#robin buckley x platonic!reader

[suckerfordylansstuff]

Let your guard down

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you were interested in writing an angsty Steve Harrington x Robin Buckley x reader (all platonic because the reader is under 18) story where they all work at Family Video. The reader is really shy and timid. When she first started working at Family Video, Steve and Robin thought it was kind of funny the reader would just do whatever was asked of her and they would push their work off onto her so they could mess around. Then Steve starts to notice things about the reader like bruises and not having anything to eat on her lunch break or anyone to pick her up or drop her off. He grows a massive soft spot for her. One night a group of guys from school that always bully her show up and start harassing the reader, cornering her in the back of the store. They’re all bigger than her and she’s scared of them. Steve gets super protective and makes the guys leave. She’s trembling with anxiety even after they are gone and Steve calms her down and then she confesses that they bully her all the time at school. Steve and Robin start looking out for her more.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x platonic!reader x Robin Buckley

Warnings: cursing, bullying, bleeding

Notes: Hope you like the fic and sorry for taking longer than I expected, college just started which means a lot of assignments to organise and deal with. Also, sorry to anyone named Mark, it just came to me. Stay safe out there!💕

~Masterlist~

Steve had just rung up a customer when the door of the store flew open revealing an out-of-breath Robin entering the store. He wished the sweet lady who had just rented ‘The Karate Kid’ goodbye and let his eyes fall on his best friend leaning her forearms on top of the counter, trying to catch her breath.

“You’re late.” Steve simply told her.

“I know, I know. Band practice went on longer than I expected.” she took quick deep breaths to calm down her beating.

“Even the new hire came in earlier than you.”

“We have a new hire?” Robin’s memory wasn’t the best, but she definitely didn’t remember Keith telling her about a new hire.

Steve pointed towards the back of the store where a familiar figure to Robin was organizing the Halloween section they always set up during October. It took a moment for Robin to get her thoughts sorted out, but as a light bulb lit up in her mind, she was already calling out your name and saying hello as she remembered you are also a suffering student at Hawkins High.

She watched as your head lifted and turned toward her, not finding it odd that you responded with nothing more than a small wave before returning to your work. Even at school, you were one of the quieter kids, so Robin took the wave as an accomplishment.

“You know her?” Steve was the one now leaning, watching his friend’s interaction with furrowed brows. When you had come into the store just an hour ago and quietly told him you were the person Keith told him to expect, Steve was excited. He liked meeting new people and given you were fairly around his age he was excited to have another friend. But as he began showing you around, he quickly realized you weren’t much of a talker, which disappointed him. So, he was just rambling on and on about the store and its requirements while you simply nodded at his words, your eyes not even meeting his. When he noticed Robin was running late, he took the decision to stay behind the counter and assigned you the job he was supposed to have already finished, which you took without question, silently arranging the shelves.

“Yeah, she’s from school, but of course, you don’t remember her.” she smirked at him. Robin loved teasing him about his past personality, and Steve hated it.

“Will you stop it with that?” he followed her movement as she walked to the breakroom to get her things sorted out before coming back out to start her shift.

“Why don’t you go and help her out since she’s doing your section?”

“I was covering for you, smartass.”

---

So, all of your shifts went on as they usually would. You were mainly the one organizing the shelves with the returned or new tapes you would get; Steve was the one to help customers around the store and Robin was usually sitting by the register. When they didn’t have any customers, they made sure to show you some of the other sections around the store, so at any given moment you would be able to help out without any problems.

Robin usually tried to start conversations with you, mainly about an assignment you both had or complaining about an annoying teacher, but your answers were short, so after a couple of tries, she stuck with casual conversation.

This has been going on for a week. You would all come at your required times and do your jobs. Well, you did your job quietly while Steve and Robin chatted away the second they didn’t have to actually work.

Steve was confused at how closed off you were. At first, he thought it was because he had done something to you back in High School that he didn’t even remember, something so bad it made you hate him. However, he quickly realized that your closed-off behavior wasn’t just for him, you acted that way around Robin and Keith too, so he at least knew it wasn’t personal. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why you were like that.

It was a week after you first started and all three of you were on the closing shift. You had closed the store, but you still needed to prepare everything for Keith who would open tomorrow. Robin was closing the register when she began looking around the store for Steve. She couldn’t find him anywhere so she turned to you, who were sweeping the floors, getting rid of all the dirt the customers would bring in during the day.

“Hey, have you seen Steve?” she watched your eyes drift behind her as you pointed at the same direction, before continuing your task. Robin turned her head over her shoulder only to watch in horror how he was already out of his work clothes and ready to leave.

“Well, I’m off. I have a date tonight and I can’t be late. See you tomorrow.” he waved at the two, but neither of them responded and for different reasons.

“Woah, woah, there dingus. What do you mean you’re off?” Robin’s legs quickly made their way over to Steve blocking his way out of the store.

“It usually means I’m leaving, Robin.” he scoffed, turning to look at you waiting for a reaction over this, but looked back at Robin when he saw you weren’t even paying attention to them.

“I told you yesterday that I can’t close because I have to study for a test tomorrow, Steve.” Robin’s arms crossed over her chest while Steve grimaced when the memory finally hit him.

“Well, I can’t cancel on the date, I’ll look like an idiot.”

The pair began arguing over who deserved to get off work early the most, not realizing your movement stopped as you turned to stare at them.

“I can close.”

For a second Steve was startled by the new voice, but relaxed when he realized it was you. He thinks this was the first time he had heard you say so many words at once, hearing your voice clearly for the first time.

“You sure?” he questioned you and sighed with relief when you nodded your head.

“Alright well, we have a list of what needs to be done around the store at the back if you don’t remember anything and then you just lock up with these right here.” you watched the brown-haired boy make his way at the counter and grab the set of keys you already knew where there.

“I know.” you took them from his grasp and placed them in your pocket.

“Good.”

“Thank you, seriously, we owe you.” Robin had just grabbed her stuff and opened the door for the two of them. They wished you goodnight before leaving the store and you behind.

---

That’s how it started. At first, they were really thankful you could cover for them, but as time went on they realized you were always ready to take over. Sometimes it happened while Steve was too busy to finish the work he had started because he was flirting with a cute girl. By the time he had rang the girl up and escorted her out, he went back to find his section ready and you leaving without a word. You also helped out Robin when she would inevitably forget she had to do something.

The pair didn’t question it at all. They actually found it pretty convenient, and so they started testing just how far was your limit. Whenever they were busy, talking, or bored they would assign you a task they were supposed to be doing. They were a little hesitant at first, trying to see if you would catch up to what they were doing, but you always took on the job without complaining. And since you weren’t complaining they thought it was the perfect plan. And it’s not like they didn’t do anything, they just watched more movies now at the store unbothered. And isn’t that what they were supposed to do, they told themselves, watch the movies they had to give out the perfect recommendations to customers? They were doing them a favor.

---

November had just started and you were once again over at the Halloween section, taking everything down, as you listened in to Steve’s awful attempt at flirting with yet another customer. You heard him laugh at his own cheesy joke when his body collided with yours sending you and the tapes you were holding on the floor.

Steve’s head immediately whipped around and started cursing when he saw you on the floor. He turned back to Rebecca, the girl he was talking to, to excuse him for a moment, but realized she was already gone.

“Great…” he mumbled under his breath before focusing his attention back to you “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot. Are you okay?”

You watched him from the corner of your eye kneel down next to you, but you didn’t look up to meet his eyes, just started picking up the tapes from the floor.

“Hey, here, lemme get those.” he took the tapes from your hands and placed them in the cart you were previously using. He grabbed the rest of them and then let his eyes fall on you once more “Want me to help you up?” even though he put it as a question he didn’t wait a second to grab your wrists, ready to pull you but to your feet, but his movement quickly died down when a wince came from your mouth, your eyes snapping closed as if you were in pain.

Steve immediately removed his hands off you, looking terrified wondering what he did “Oh my God, are you okay? Did the fall hurt you? I’m sorry, let me look-”

He saw. You didn’t register his actions before it was too late, and he saw. He saw what they had done to you, and now you were scared. You didn’t expect Steve to help you up. You didn’t expect him to grab you by your wrists, the same place they used to tug you around when they threw insults in your face. You didn’t expect him to notice your pain, you always thought you hid it well. And you definitely didn’t expect him to worry and inspect upon your pain, because no one else has ever had. But he did. He grabbed your long sleeve, pushed it up, and he saw them. You did tear off his gentle grip and pulled the sleeve back down, but he had clearly seen the purple bruises on your arm.

“I’m okay.” you told him quietly, your eyes staying on the ground.

You stood still for a second, trying to decide what you were supposed to do now, waiting to see the way Steve would react as well.

“All right. I’ll, um… I’ll finish over here, alright? Go see if Robin needs any help.” you weren’t sure if you were glad he didn’t comment on it, but you left without a second thought, praying he wouldn’t make it a big deal.

---

After that incident, Steve’s eyes mostly never left your figure while at work. He always watched you do your job. At first, he told himself it was out of curiosity over the bruises, but it wasn’t long till he realized he was worried. Because it wasn’t only the bruises that picked his curiosity. Suddenly he started seeing all those things about you that hinted at something wrong.

He was able to notice your wincing more often, especially when you thought no one was looking, always caressing your wrists after a long shift. He also noticed that you never had a break during work. He tried to recall when he had last seen you have a meal here, but other than the occasional granola bar during full shifts on the weekends, you never brought anything else with you, which was a drastic difference compared to him and Robin.

When he ran it by Robin, she tried to take a more logical approach to the whole thing, but she also found it weird.

“I mean during the weekdays it could be because we’re having lunch at school, but on the weekends… I don’t think I’ve seen her sit on her break longer than 5 minutes.”

“Right? I don’t know, maybe I’m overreacting here, I mean, not everyone has our appetite.” Robin nodded at his words “But I’m starting to get a little worried here. And I can’t outright ask her because I don’t know her that well. Plus there’s no way she would answer me, right?”

“Well, collectively, we’ve only heard her say 20 words? So, no, it won’t be easy to talk to her.”

“Try and see if you could approach her more in school, see how she acts there. Does she have any friends? Maybe we could ask them?” his brain was trying so hard to find some way to help you without scaring you away.

“To be honest with you, it is a little hard to keep track of her around school. She always seems to disappear in between classes, like she doesn’t wanna be found.”

He thought his talk with Robin would be reassuring, but it ended up being anything but that. So for the rest of the day he made sure to help you out with your work and stop putting more things on your shoulders. He decided he would try to get on your good side, so he could approach you about his worries.

---

You had just helped a little kid pick out a movie to watch with his mother when loud laughter and yelling caught your attention. Your eyes shifted at the front of the store in curiosity before they widened. Your heartbeat picked up and you could barely feel your legs as they started guiding you away from them.

‘What are they doing here’ you thought. You were used to them at school, but here? How could you hide it? You can’t go out the entrance door without them seeing you and the break room is on the other side of the store. Your mind was screaming for you to hide, but as his eyes fell on you, you knew it was too late.

---

Steve eyed the group that entered the store suspiciously. He had never seen them in here before, but he remembered their faces when he was back in Highschool. Back then they were just kids, mostly getting into trouble with stupid pranks they did around school, but they build a reputation for themselves, so of course ‘King Steve’ would have them in his radar. He didn’t like them, but he couldn’t just go up to them and demand to leave the store, he would be fired.

So, he decided to let them be and only interfere if something bad actually happens.

He was helping out a sweet lady, telling her all about the movie she was interested in just so she could make sure nothing scary is in it. He spent a good five minutes doing so and then proceeded to ring her up and show her out the store, holding the door open for her, when Robin’s figure appeared next to him.

“Hey, can you deal with Mark and his little friends? I really don’t feel like talking to them outside of school.” Steve nodded at her words. Mark was the ‘leader’ of the group, the one telling the rest what to do and what not to do.

“Yeah, I will, don’t worry. Is he still as stupid as I remember him?” they made their way to the register, leaning their bodies as they waited for another customer to enter.

“Oh, he’s worse now. They’ve started picking on people a lot more, not just dumb pranks.” he watched her pick out a candy from their candy jar and pop it in her mouth.

“He hasn’t tried anything on you or the kids, right?”

“No, don’t worry. Just victims of his stupidity reeking the entire school.”

Steve smirked at her exaggeration but stopped when he realized you weren’t anywhere near his eye sight “Have you seen Y/n?”

However, before they could start looking for you, the yells coming from the back started becoming more prominent. Robin sighed at their behavior and Steve stood up straight, patting her back “I’ll go kick them out.” he made his way towards Mark and his friends and clapped his hands to announce himself as their heads came into view behind all the shelves “Alright, guys, If you don’t sto-”

Steve froze. When he saw you down on the floor, hiding in the corner while Mark stood before you, his hand gripping your hair, he nearly lost every sense of control he had in him, but he knew killing wouldn’t resolve to anything good right now.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get off of her.” he yelled at him as he pushed his way to the asshole above you, punching him across his face and when the guy stumbled, trying to find his balance again, he grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and pushed him into the wall. The rest of the group started scattering and left the store quickly as they realized they had been caught.

“Steve, what’s…” Steve could sense Robin was now watching everything that was happening but couldn’t focus on anything other than Mark in front of him. He wanted to hit him again, he wanted to beat the shit out of him, but for now he had to stop, because he wasn’t his main focus, you were. He needed to make sure you were okay first and then if you gave him the green light he would get Dustin and they would hunt Mark down.

His fist was already in the air in a way to threaten Mark, and it was working. The boy in front of him despite being the horror of Hawkins High for some of the students that attended, to Steve he was still just the scrawny kid he used to see run around the halls. And Mark remembered Steve, who couldn’t remember him? So, even he knew not to test the King’s limits.

Steve’s fist slowly lowered as he once again grabbed onto his collar “If you ever try anything on her or anyone again, I will not hesitate.” he pushed him into the wall one more time before sending him forward. He watched him nearly fall on the floor before he quickly ran to the door and left the store.

It didn’t take long for Steve to come back to his normal self where only one thing was important. Making sure you were okay. Turning around he saw you still on the floor, your shoulders shaking. He could tell you were crying even though your face was angled to the floor. Robin was before you trying to access the situation, but each time she would try to put a comforting hand on your shoulder, you shook it off. He didn’t even think you were doing it on purpose, you were just scared.

“Hey, hey, Y/n? Can you hear me?” he kneeled down and spoke in a soft voice. He wasn’t sure what the best approach would be when someone is having, what he would assume this is, a panic attack, but his instinct told him ‘just don’t startle her’.

He waited for some kind of response, but you only shook harder at his words. You could hear him and you could understand him, but your body wasn’t making it easy to answer him. You wanted to say it’s fine and then walk away and never talk about this again, but you’ve been caught red handed.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to say anything. Can you nod for me and tell me if you can stand up?” your breathing was quick and tears were falling from your eyes, but you eventually pulled through and nodded your head. You heard the boy before you let out a sigh of relief before he started speaking again “Alright, great. Robin, go and flip the sign up front, we don’t want any customers right now.” you heard Robin agree and the sound of her footsteps came next. Your eyes were closed, so you were relying on all your other senses to understand what was happening. Suddenly, you felt a cloud of warmth surrounding you, Steve was closer to you now, you realized “I’m going to help you get up and we’re going to walk to the break room, is that okay?”

You were able to let out a shaky ‘yes’ before you felt his arms loop around you and help you stand up. Without realizing it, you made it to the break room where you were sat on top of a chair while the others stood around you, trying to help you.

Robin helped you through your panic, guiding you to follow her breathing, while now with your eyes open you could see Steve run around trying to find water for you and some kind of bandage for your hand that was bleeding. After the fall you had landed on top of the moving cart and managed to scratch your hand as you tried to stop the harsh impact.

Eventually, your breathing was back to normal, your eyes were red, and the water bottle was in your hands, one of them wrapped with bandages. You were focusing on the water and not on your two coworkers, who were starring at you from across the table in the break room waiting for you to speak. You guessed Steve didn’t have a lot of patience since it wasn’t long until his voice filled your ears.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” his voice was soft and you were thankful for that. You weren’t sure why you were expecting to hear him angry, as if he has ever been anything but nice to you, but you feared that after seeing you on the floor they would call you all those things you already knew about yourself. Stupid, weak, a bitch, like how he called you.

After a couple of seconds you were able to nod your head and look them in the eye, before speaking softly “Um… Mark and the rest, they uh… they’ve been messing with me-”

“Messing with you? More like-” Robin spoke up, her voice filtered with anger. She felt terrible for not noticing how you felt. She was never too good at filtering her words and action, so when Steve nudged her, she knew it wasn’t the time to let her emotions get the best of her “Sorry.” she motioned for you to continue, but you quickly shook your head thinking you sounded dumb.

“It’s not even a big deal, seriously.” your good hand was playing with the cap on the water bottle.

“Not a big, deal? Y/n, you’re bleeding. And I’m guessing the marks I saw on your arm were from them too?” Steve was getting defensive. He couldn’t believe you thought this was any kind of ‘okay’. He started feeling the same way he does when the kids are in danger and he wants to do anything, everything, to make you feel protected and safe.

“You saw those?” your voice was a mere whisper at this point.

“Yeah, I saw those. Y/n, what they are doing is wrong. No one should be treated like this, especially not you. If they ever try anything again, you come and tell me, alright?” you watched as his eyes met yours when he kneeled down before you once again. You could see he was genuine, and you could feel your guard being let down.

“Oh, I’ll make sure they don’t, because from now on you’re not leaving my side at school, okay? They’re not going to hurt you ever again.” Robin made a promise to herself to be your personal bodyguard at school.

You looked at both of them and then your eyes filled with tears again “I’m really scared…” you finally admitted to them.

“I know, but you shouldn’t be. From now on you have us, okay? We’re sorry for not noticing sooner, but you can truly trust us.” Steve held out his hand for you, which you took gladly.

“We want to help.”

You sniffled at their words and finally let out your first smile in front of them. Your first smile in a long time “Thank you.”

~~~

[yeahiveheardofbears-fics]

Behind the Beaded Curtain

When you and Steve get stuck closing Family Video together, the usual banter takes a turn toward mischief—and maybe something more—when an empty store and a cart of VHS tapes lead to some questionable decisions. Between late-night chaos, awkward tension, and way too many adult films, Steve might finally figure out that sometimes, taking a chance is worth the risk.

hi guys! here's a little smut oneshot to hold you over till I post the next fic in my rewrite series! There is no use of Y/N and the 'you' mentioned is fem. I loosely based it off of my OC, Mac, but I tried not to be super descriptive so the X Reader girlies can get a little more immersed. This was just an idea that didn't make sense for my main fic, so i decided to write it as a oneshot. I'm goign to try and post my oneshots on this page as well as ao3! comments encouraged and I hope you enjoy.

enemies to friends to lovers, semi public sex, confressions, idiots in love word count: 13,619 TW: talk of porn, sex at work, body confidence issues, uh idk they fuck so if you don't like that i guess don't read it

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, IF YOU LIKE THIS, PLZ MESSAGE ME CAUSE I NEED INSPO <3

fic masterlist

read on ao3 or read below the cut:

The bell above the Family Video door jingled weakly, signaling the entrance of a customer. You leaned against the shelf you were restocking, the rough cardboard edges of a VHS cover pressed into your palm, watching Steve Harrington prop his feet up on the counter like he owned the place. His uniform vest clashing with his shirt, collar slightly rumpled, and his hair—perfect as ever—caught the light just so. You hated that he looked like he belonged in one of the cheesy rom-coms he was so bad at recommending to customers.

“Don’t strain yourself,” you called, sliding a copy of A Nightmare on Elm Street onto the shelf. “Wouldn’t want you to pull a muscle working too hard.”

Steve lazily swiveled the stool he was perched on, an easy grin spreading across his face. “It’s called delegating. You’re the one who offered to restock.”

You raised a brow, slapping another tape onto the shelf with a little more force than necessary. “You mean when you handed me the cart and said, ‘You’re better at this, anyway’? Yeah, real great teamwork.”

Robin appeared from one of the aisles, dragging a broom behind her and looking thoroughly unimpressed with both of you. “You know, it’s amazing you haven’t driven each other insane yet. You’re like two stray cats fighting over the same dumpster.”

Steve shot her an annoyed look, but you just smirked, leaning against the shelf with your arms crossed. “He’s not worth the energy,” you said, jerking your chin toward him. “I’d rather put my effort into alphabetizing the horror section for the third time this week.”

“Hey!” Steve pointed at you, his grin widening. “That’s because you have no taste. You keep shoving Gremlins into the comedy section.”

“It is a comedy,” you retorted, the hint of a challenge in your voice. “You’re the one who insists on putting it in horror.”

“Technically it’s a Christmas movie.” Robin interjected but you two were too into your usual banter to acknowledge her comment.

“It’s literally about monsters terrorizing a town,” he shot back, standing now, clearly ready for this argument.

“And it has a montage set to Christmas music,” you countered, stepping closer, refusing to back down. “Face it, Harrington. It’s a comedy, and your taste is basic.”

Robin watched the exchange with barely concealed amusement, resting her chin on the end of the broom handle. “This is how wars start, you know. One second it’s Gremlins, next thing you know, someone’s annexing the drama section.”

Steve ignored her, crossing his arms as he stared you down, his brown eyes sparkling with exasperation. “Oh, I’m basic? Says the girl who has a Misfits patch on her backpack like every other kid trying too hard to look edgy.”

You scoffed, stepping closer until you were almost nose to nose. “You wouldn’t know edgy if it bit you in the ass, Harrington.”

For a second, the room felt charged, like something was about to snap. Then Robin cleared her throat dramatically, cutting through the tension. “Okay, you two, this isn’t a cage match. Save it for the Halloween crowd this weekend.”

You stepped back, rolling your eyes as you returned to your cart of tapes. “Fine. I’ll let him live another day.”

Steve plopped back onto his stool, muttering under his breath but loud enough for you to hear, “You wish you could take me.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, already halfway down the aisle. “It wouldn’t even be a contest.”

“You know, for someone who spends most of her time glaring at customers, you’ve got a lot to say.”

“Somebody has to keep you on your toes,” you shot back, brushing your hands off and making your way toward the front. You flicked a stray strand of hair out of your face as you passed him. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t charm every poor soul who comes in here. It’s starting to get embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Steve feigned offense, placing a hand on his chest. “I’ll have you know, plenty of customers appreciate a little charisma. You could try it sometime.”

“Charisma doesn’t mean flirting with everyone who rents ‘Sixteen Candles,’ Harrington.”

Robin let out a dramatic sigh, looking between the two of you. “I can’t decide if this is banter or foreplay, but either way, it’s exhausting.”

“Foreplay?” Steve sputtered, his cheeks flushing.

“God, no,” you said at the same time, shooting Robin a glare.

Robin laughed, leaning against the counter as Steve sighed, shaking his head with a reluctant smile. Somewhere behind the banter, in the dim light and popcorn butter air, the faintest trace of something real hung between the two of you—something neither of you was ready to admit, least of all to each other.

---

The last few hours of your shift crawled along, with Robin having said her goodbyes twenty minutes earlier and left you and Steve to close up. A post-dinner rush had left the place in chaos, with empty shelves and a mountain of returns now sitting on the counter. Steve, standing at the rewinder machine, was absently humming to himself as you finished putting away the last of your cart.

“Finally done,” you muttered to yourself, dusting your hands off. Just as you started to roll the empty cart back toward the counter, Steve sauntered over with a fresh pile of tapes, all rewound and stacked precariously.

“Perfect timing,” he said, grinning as he plopped them onto the top of your cart. “More work for you.”

Your eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as you stared at the offending pile. “You’re kidding me.”

“What? That’s the system!” he said defensively, his hands going to his hips. It was a classic Harrington move—half annoyed, half clueless.

“Your system sucks,” you shot back, pulling the tapes off the top and setting them on the counter. “And you’re helping.”

“I am helping,” he argued, gesturing to the now-empty rewinder. “I rewound the tapes. That’s like, ninety percent of the job.”

You snorted, grabbing the cart handle with more force than necessary and turning it toward the aisles. “Whatever. I’ll do it myself.”

Halfway to the shelves, you paused, an idea sparking as you glanced back at Steve, who was still standing there with his hands on his hips. “Actually…” you said, setting the cart brake and turning to face him fully.

Steve tilted his head, suspicious. “What?”

“You’re an athlete, right?” you said, your tone dripping with exaggerated innocence. “Former Mr. Cool Guy?”

He frowned. “I don’t like where this is going.”

You grinned, hoisting yourself onto the cart and sitting cross-legged on its flat surface, tapping the metal sides. “Put those skills to use and make this less boring. You push, I steer. I’ll call out the titles; you take me to the aisles.”

Steve’s mouth fell open, his brow furrowing. “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“This is dumb,” he said, shaking his head. “What if someone comes in?”

You leaned back, gesturing toward the door with a dramatic flourish. “Steve, it’s Wednesday. It’s 7 p.m. The only person walking through that door is someone too embarrassed to rent their adult movie during daylight hours. And if that happens, do you really want to help them?”

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed, throwing his hands up. “Fine. But if you fall off, I’m not taking you to the hospital.”

“Noted,” you said, grinning victoriously. “ I always wanted to bleed out in the comedy section anyway.”

With a reluctant groan, Steve walked around the cart and grabbed the handle. “What’s first?”

You picked up the first tape from the stack beside you, holding it up to squint at the title. “Raiders of the Lost Ark. Action-adventure, aisle three.”

“Roger that,” Steve said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he started to push the cart. It wobbled slightly, and you leaned forward to steady yourself, already laughing as he picked up speed.

“Faster, Harrington!” you called, pointing toward the aisle like you were commanding a ship. “Aisle three awaits!”

“This was a mistake,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. He slowed as you neared the correct aisle, and you held the tape out dramatically, like a torch.

“Here we are!” you declared. “Place the artifact on its rightful throne.”

Steve grabbed the tape from your hand, muttering something about your flair for the dramatic as he slid it onto the shelf. When he turned back to you, you were already holding up the next tape.

“Ready for the next one?” you asked, wiggling the VHS case.

Steve let out a long-suffering sigh but grabbed the cart handle again, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This is going to be the longest close ever.”

“Yeah, but you’re having fun,” you teased.

He didn’t respond, but the way his lips twitched into a full smile as he started pushing again gave you all the answer you needed.

Steve pushed the cart into the Drama aisle, his grip on the handle loose as he rolled his eyes at your smug expression. You waved The Breakfast Club over your head like a trophy, already looking triumphant.

“Drama section, as requested,” he said, stopping with a slight flourish. “But I’m just saying… it could also go in Romance.”

You nearly fell off the cart from how hard you laughed. “Romance? That’s what you got out of it? You think it’s about Claire and Bender hooking up?”

Steve raised a brow, his hands moving to his hips in that classic, I’m about to defend myself stance. “What? No, that’s not all it’s about. But it is a part of it. Opposites attract, right?”

You tilted your head, grinning like you’d just been handed the perfect opportunity to roast him. “Oh, sure. Opposites attract. That’s definitely a trope worth rooting for,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Especially when it’s just code for ‘the weird girl has to completely change herself to be worth the jock’s attention.’”

Steve frowned, clearly thrown off. “You’re talking about the makeover thing?”

“Obviously,” you said, flopping dramatically against the back of the cart, the metal sides rattling under your weight. “She was perfectly fine as she was—better, even. Then suddenly she gets some preppy glow-up, and boom, Emilio Estevez notices her. It’s such crap.”

He was quiet for a beat, like he was actually chewing on your words. His lips pressed into a line, and then, unexpectedly, he nodded. “I mean… I agree with you. She looked out of place like that. It wasn’t really her.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his response. “Wait… you agree with me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, shrugging. “I mean, she didn’t need all that. She was cooler before.”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach flip. His tone wasn’t teasing or defensive—it was sincere. He looked at you with this genuine expression, like he actually cared about what you thought. The space between you suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier.

For a moment, neither of you said anything, and the quiet made your skin prickle in a way you weren’t used to.

Then Steve broke the tension with a smirk, shifting back to lean casually against the handle of the cart. “So, what I’m hearing is… you must hate Grease too, huh? Sandy changes everything for Danny at the end. That must drive you nuts.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, sitting up straighter and gripping the sides of the cart like you were preparing for battle. “Oh, don’t get me started on Grease, Harrington.”

His grin widened, and he gestured with one hand for you to continue, clearly enjoying this way too much. “By all means, let it out. This should be good.”

You took a deep breath, ready to launch into a full tirade about the crime that was Sandy’s transformation, while Steve leaned against the cart, laughing softly under his breath before you’d even said a word.

---

Steve jiggled the lock on the front doors, pulling them to test if they were secure before flipping off the outside lights. The neon "OPEN" sign fizzled out with a soft hum, leaving the store bathed in the sterile glow of its overhead fluorescents. He sighed as he turned the "CLOSED" sign around and shot a glance your way.

You were standing at the counter, finishing up the register deposit you’d started early since the rush had ended hours ago. You hummed quietly to yourself, seemingly in a good mood, which was rare for a late-night shift.

“Got any costume ideas for Halloween?” you asked as you counted the last stack of bills. “Since we get to dress up here and all.”

Steve leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Robin and I are going as pirates,” he said, his voice flat. “Her idea.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Let me guess. She’s all excited, and you’re just going along with it because you have no spine?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, though there was a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She’s got this whole ‘Captain Robin and First Mate Dingus’ bit planned. It’s exhausting.”

You snorted, finishing the deposit and closing the register drawer. “Well, I’m going as a devil. Simple, classic, but I gotta tone it down a little so Keith doesn’t spend the entire shift staring at my chest.”

Steve went stiff for a moment, muttering something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, straightening. “So, uh, are you done with that?”

“Just about,” you said, locking the deposit bag and setting it aside for the morning shift. Your eyes drifted to the cart in the middle of the store, still loaded with a few stray tapes. “Looks like we’re not done with that, though.”

Steve followed your gaze and sighed. “Oh, great. More cart rides.”

You grinned, hopping back onto the cart and gesturing for him to take the handle. “You’re the one who insisted on delegating, remember? Now push.”

With another sigh—this one more dramatic than the first—Steve complied, wheeling you toward the horror section. You rifled through the tapes on the cart, calling out titles as he brought you to the correct spots. It went smoothly until you reached for the next tape and froze, reading the title aloud before you could stop yourself.

“Blondes in Heat?” you said, eyebrows shooting up. Your gaze darted to the rest of the tapes on the cart. “Oh, no.”

Steve groaned, already knowing what was coming. “Yeah, I’ll take care of those.”

You shook your head, holding up the tape with a smirk. “It’s fine, I can do it.”

“Seriously,” Steve said, his tone a little sharper. “I’ll handle it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, shrugging. “I’ve seen porn before, Steve.”

His eyes widened, and he stumbled over his words for a second before recovering. “What—you—you’ve—okay, I mean—”

“Relax, Harrington,” you said, clearly amused at his reaction. “You’re not the only person in Hawkins with a VHS player and curiosity.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, his face slightly pink. “I wasn’t—okay, fine. Just—don’t make it weird.”

You laughed, waving him off. “It’s not weird. Now push the cart.”

Grumbling something under his breath, Steve resumed pushing, steering you toward the back corner of the store where the beaded curtain waited. The clinking of the beads was just faint enough to make you second-guess the idea, but you straightened your shoulders and braced yourself. The cart rattled slightly as Steve slowed, and you gave him a look over your shoulder.

“C’mon, Harrington. It’s just tapes.”

The dim lighting of the ‘adult’ section made the whole thing feel way more awkward than it should have been. You broke the silence once more as Steve pushed the cart, and you, to one of the corners and had you hand him the tapes.

“You know, a place called ‘Family Video’ having a section for porn is a little weird.” You say as he shelves Blondes in Heat.

“Can you stop saying porn?” he sighs over his shoulder before walking back to you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. What would you rather me call it? The erotic arts? Adult features?"

"Just shut up," Steve says, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

You hand him the next tape, which you had been staring at with an amused smirk. "How to Satisfy a Woman in Six Minutes or Less? Really?"

Steve groaned. "God, you're such a pain."

"I'm just saying. Unrealistic. Also why the rush?"

"Oh, my God. Shut up!" Steve says, trying not to laugh.

"What? I'm being serious! Six minutes is a lot to ask. That's barely any time for foreplay, and I don't think anyone wants a half-assed—"

"I am not talking about sex with you!" he says, a little too loudly.

You bite back a laugh. "Why not? It's not weird. I'm sure it's not even the most awkward conversation you've had this week."

He turns, an eyebrow raised. "Oh, really?"

"Uh-huh. Remember when Robin told you and Dustin the difference between tampons and pads?"

Steve visibly winced at the memory. "Okay, fair point."

"See? Not weird," you said, handing him the next tape. 

"Yeah, sure," Steve said, rolling his eyes as he took the tape and glanced at the cover. Then his eyes went wide, and his whole body seemed to freeze.

"What? What's wrong?" you asked, trying to peek at the case. "Don't tell me it's worse than the last one. Oh, is it—"

"It's nothing," Steve said quickly, cutting you off as he turned away.

"Uh-uh," you said, jumping off the cart and walking around so you could see the front. "I want to see."

"No, no way."

"If it's really nothing, then why can't I see it?" you challenged, crossing your arms.

"Because I said so!" Steve shot back, his voice high and panicked.

"Fine. Hand it over," you demanded, holding out your hand.

"No."

"Yes."

"No, really, I—"

"Steven Harrington," you snapped, your patience running thin. "If you don't give me that tape right now, I will—"

"Alright, fine! Just stop yelling," Steve sighed, relenting as he shoved the tape into your hand. You stared at him, surprised.

"I yelled once."

"Still."

"Whatever."

You glanced down, and immediately, you felt your own body freeze. In a flash, the situation felt way too real.

Because staring up at you from the tape cover was an image of a girl who could've been you, if her hair was a different color. A girl, sprawled out on her back, naked. The camera angle was positioned above her, the lens angled to give the viewer a full view of her body—her face, her breasts, her legs spread wide.

Your face was on fire, your mouth suddenly dry. Beside you, Steve shifted nervously, and it occurred to you that you were both just staring silently at a porno tape that was clearly made for a specific audience.

"Uh... this is awkward," you finally managed, your voice a little hoarse.

Steve made a sound that was half laugh, half strangled cry. "Yeah, I could've done without the reminder, honestly."

You shot him a confused look. "Reminder?"

He waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. "No, that's not what I meant. I just meant—forget it. Forget I said anything. Can we please move on?"

"Not yet," you said, narrowing your eyes. "What do you mean, reminder? Is there a girl in pornos who looks like me or something?"

"Uh... maybe," Steve said, wincing. "But it's not weird, or whatever. It's totally normal. I just... happened watch this one. I wasn't trying to... or anything. I didn't realize..."

He was rambling, and it was kind of adorable. But there was also something about his nervous energy that made your skin prickle in the best way.

"So, if I look like this girl..." you said, letting the words hang as you tilted your head and met his gaze, which was locked onto yours.

"Yeah?" he breathed, swallowing thickly.

You stepped closer, holding his gaze. "Does that mean you've thought about me like that?"

"What?" Steve said, his voice cracking. "No. No way. Of course not. Why would I—"

"Liar."

Your tone was gentle, playful. It was a challenge, not an accusation. Steve's lips parted slightly, but he didn't respond, his eyes still locked on yours. You tried to keep a straight face, but you couldn't help the laugh that escaped you.

"You know- just give me that." Steve said, snatching the tape back. You watched him shove it onto the shelf, the movement quick and jerky.

"Hey, I'm just teasing! It's not that serious." You say, hands up in mock defense as you walk backwards and hop back up to sit on the cart.

"Shut up," he muttered, his cheeks flushed.

You bit your lip, unable to stop grinning. "Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

"Yeah, well, it's not funny."

You tilted your head, watching him as he fiddled with the shelf, his eyes not meeting yours. There was a vulnerability there, and a hint of shame. He looked almost hurt.

"Okay, seriously," you said, leaning forward and catching his gaze. "I didn't mean to actually upset you."

You hand him the next tape, attempting to make a joke about the absurd cover, but he just gives a noncommittal shrug. You frown.

"Steve, come on," you say, trying again. "I was just playing around. If it's really bothering you, I'll stop."

"It's not that," he said, shaking his head.

"Then what is it?"

He looked away, his jaw tight. You waited, giving him the space to say what he needed to. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, his words heavy with frustration.

"It's stupid," he said, still not meeting your gaze. "I just... we never talk about this stuff, okay? And then, the first time we do, it's because you think I'm some perv who gets off on looking at girls who look like you."

You blinked, caught off guard. "I... did not think that."

"Well, you should have," he snapped, turning to face you fully, his eyes burning. "Because that's how everyone thinks of me, isn't it? Steve Harrington, the former king of Hawkins High, screwing anything that moves."

You swallowed, not knowing what to say. Naturally, you went with humor to deflect.

"I mean if it helps, I've seen your luck with women lately, so I definitely don't think that..."

"Stop. Just—stop," Steve sighed, sounding exasperated. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. This is all we ever do. We can't have a serious conversation without joking about it, and it drives me insane."

You uncrossed your legs on the cart and let them dangle, leaning back against the wall of tapes, taken aback by his sudden honesty. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. You had known each other through school, been friendly since he started at the store in July, but this was the first time he had ever really opened up. It was new, and a little scary, and definitely not something you knew how to deal with.

"I'm sorry," you said quietly, and you meant it. "I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yeah, well," Steve sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not the best at sharing. Ask anyone."

"Hey, I've got no room to talk," you said, smiling a little. "I've kept my walls pretty high too, I think."

"You're not wrong."

The air hung heavy between you. Steve shifted, his eyes darting from the cart to the shelves, clearly feeling just as awkward as you were.

"You know that the person you were in high school doesn't, like, define you right?" you offered, your voice quiet. "Like, I don't think of you as 'King Steve' or anything."

"Really?" he asked, his brow furrowing skeptically.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "I mean, we work together. I get to see all of you. The Steve who's actually really good at his job, and a surprisingly good teacher when you're helping Robin study, and an actual nerd about movies. Plus, y'know, the dingus pirate."

Steve rolled his eyes but grinned a little.

"And I mean, maybe you'd have better luck if you were that guy when you tried to uh, pick up women. The fake charm kinda just... doesn't work with this version of you."

"Gee, thanks," he said, feigning annoyance.

"No, I mean it in a good way," you assured him. "I think you're more real like this."

He was quiet for a moment, chewing his lip. Then, unexpectedly, he reached for the next tape and you went to grab it from the dwindling stack. You handed him the tape, your fingertips brushing his palm, and a rush of heat flooded your cheeks.

Get it together, you told yourself. You're not suddenly crushing on the guy because he showed a little vulnerability are you?

Steve, oblivious, flipped the case over, studying the cover. "Okay, so this one is... not great," he said, shaking his head. "I've had the misfortune of having to put away more than one."

"Oh, boy," you said, laughing. "I'm ready."

"Okay, here goes," he said, turning the case toward you. "Blonde Bimbo Gets Banged."

"Jesus Christ," you snorted. "Is there any way this can get worse?"

"Let's find out," Steve said, flipping the case back and reading the synopsis. "She's blonde. She's a bimbo. And she knows it. She likes to flaunt her blonde beauty. Her boyfriend knows she's a whore, and that's just the way he likes her. They get wild and hot together, and soon the whole gang is banging the blonde bimbo."

"Jesus Christ how many times do they have to say 'blonde' in one synopsis. Does the target audience have the memory of a goldfish? Does this company need a new marketing team?"

Steve laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, it gets worse. The reviews call this a 'stand-out-of-the-pack classic.'"

"Please don't make me read the rest," you said, waving you hand in front of your face while laughing. "I'm already scarred."

"You wanted to know," Steve said, his lips pressed into a line to keep from laughing.

"You're right. I did. I shouldn't have."

You two fell back into a comfortable silence, and you found yourself studying Steve as he went about his task, staocking the last of the tapes neatly on the shelf. He had always been attractive, but he was starting to feel realer. You could see the details of him now, the cracks and rough edges and the parts of him he'd rather not share. It was a dangerous thought, and you knew it. He was still your coworker, after all. And, maybe, your friend?

You watched him finish shelving the last tape, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly with the movement, and your stomach did a somersault.

Oh no.

Steve turned and noticed you staring. He raised an eyebrow. "What?"

You shook your head. "Nothing. I was just zoned out, I guess."

"Right," he said, clearly unconvinced. But he didn't push it.

"Last one," you say as your got to hand it to him. "And the survey says... oh. Wow."

"What is it?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Oh, no, it's just this is the first time we've actually stocked something decent," you say, turning the case toward him. "Like, this one doesn't make me want to scrub my brain out with soap."

Steve studied the case, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, yeah. I've seen this one."

"Really?" you asked, surprised.

"Yeah, it's actually pretty good," he admitted. "There's, like, a plot and everything."

"You don't say," you said, smirking. "Maybe we should put this in the Romance section."

Steve rolled his eyes, shelving the movie. "Okay, wiseass."

"I'm just saying. Plot, characters, and actual sex? That's practically a Jackie Collins novel."

"Very funny," Steve said, walking back toward the cart. You were still sitting on the edge, the wheels of the cart rattling slightly.

"Huh. We actually got through the whole cart," you said, grinning a little. "Go us."

"Yeah," Steve agreed, leaning his hands against the cart and looking over at the shelf. "That was surprisingly easy."

"We're a pretty good team," you pointed out.

"Yeah, we are."

You leaned back a little, balancing yourself on your hands and studying Steve. He seemed to be doing the same, his gaze locked on yours. The air felt thick, heavy, and somehow electric. You could practically feel the sparks.

"We should, um," Steve swallowed thickly, glancing over at the beaded curtain that led out to the main sales floor. "We should probably get to the front."

"Yeah," you agreed, though neither of you moved.

You held his gaze, and he held yours, the tension between you was overwhelming, and intoxicating, and you could barely breathe.

"You got a deposit to finish..." he whispered, his voice low.

"Yeah, the main lights are still on," you said, your throat dry.

Neither of you moved. You could feel the pull, the urge to close the space, the electricity between you threatening to overload. Your pulse was racing, your skin tingling. You wondered if he could hear the thunder of your heart, if he could feel the warmth of your breath on his lips.

"This is dumb," he murmured.

"So dumb," you breathed.

"We're not gonna..."

"Yeah, we're not..."

And then his lips were on yours, and everything else faded away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch gentle but firm, and the world seemed to stop. His mouth was soft, the kiss slow, lingering. You melted into him, letting him guide the pace, savoring every second. He tasted like coffee and popcorn and something sweet, and the scent of his cologne surrounded you, enveloping you.

When you finally pulled apart, your lips felt swollen, and you were breathless. Your eyes fluttered open, and you stared at each other, the air crackling around you.

"We are so fucking dumb," he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours, a small, amused smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

You laughed, feeling giddy. "The dumbest. We should probably stop."

"Probably," he murmured. But his lips found yours again, his hand drifting into your hair, his fingers curling. You grabbed a fistful of his uniform vest, pulling him closer. He pressed into you, the pressure of him against your chest, between your legs, made your body ache. You moaned softly as he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting along your lower lip. You could feel his smirk as your lips parted, giving him access to the rest of your mouth. His tongue grazed yours, teasing, exploring. His free hand ran up the outside of your leg, his palm hot on your thigh even through the denim of your jeans. You arched against him, craving the friction, the feel of his weight, and he pushed back.

You tugged on his vest, and without breaking the kiss, he clumsily shed it and tossed it aside, his arms then circling your waist. Your hands slid under the hem of his shirt, and you shivered at the contact with his bare skin. He sucked on your lower lip, making you gasp. Your fingertips dug into the muscle of his back, and he pressed harder into you. His body was solid, but soft, and he still held you so carefully. You wanted more of him, all of him, everything.

One of his hands moved to you shoulder to take the same hideous Family Video vest off of you. He broke the kiss only to make sure that he didn't rip it or pop one of your many pins off while doing so, putting it on the bottom of the cart. The careful action made you giggle. He smiled down at you before capturing your mouth in another heated kiss. You pressed your tongue into his mouth this time, running it along his bottom lip. He moaned softly, pulling you even tighter against him.

Your fingers raked down his back, nails grazing the smooth skin, and he moaned into your mouth, grinding his hips into you. The friction of him between your legs sent a shiver of pleasure through your whole body, and you groaned. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading your legs so that he could fit himself perfectly against you. He pressed hard, his body hot between your thighs, his chest pressed to your chest, his mouth on your mouth.

He rocked his hips into you, the slow friction driving you wild, and you wrapped your arms around him, holding on as he pressed his full weight against you, pinning you on the cart between him and the shelves. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as he moved again, his hands moving down to grip your hips. You could feel his arousal growing, and you shifted to match his pace, his hips rolling into you as yours rocked up to meet them, creating the perfect amount of friction, the pressure building with every thrust. You whimpered against his mouth as his fingers dug into your thighs.

"God, I want you," he breathed between kisses, his voice husky, sending a fresh wave of heat through your core.

"We—we have to—" you gasped, your words catching in your throat as he ground against you again, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Yeah," he breathed, nodding. His hands moved to your waist, pushing your shirt up and running his palms up the exposed skin, his thumbs grazing the soft skin of your stomach that that swelled gently over the waistband of your jeans, his touch reverent as he let his thumbs trace lazy circles there. You pulled away at the contact, suddenly feeling self concious with his hands on your exposed skin.

"Woah.. is this okay?" he asked, his voice a little strained. "If you're not—"

"It's not you, it's just..." you swallowed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "I've never been with someone... like you before. Someone who... has expectations..."

His hands slid out from under your shirt as he took a step back, confusion on his face. "Wait, what?"

"I mean," you continued, struggling to find the right words, "You're so attractive, and I'm..." You gestured to your body with an open palm, not even able to find the words to express how self-concious you were about your body compared to the girls that usually got his attention. "You know," you finally added. "Me. So... I mean, I just want you to be sure, because..."

Steve's eyebrows pulled together in concern, his voice suddenly very serious. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean."

"No," he shook his head. "No, I really don't."

You stared at him for a moment, surprised, and then your eyes dropped to your hands, which were clasped in front of you. Your nails had been painted black with silver glitter, and the edges of your fingertips were rough, worn down from anxiously picking at them for so many years. Your thighs, while sat on the cart, pressed together, the soft curve of them spilling slightly over the edge, a reminder of how you never felt like you fit the mold of what guys like Steve usually went for. You thought about the way your jeans pinched at your waist or how you always avoided certain angles in photos because they made your arms look bigger than you liked. Your stomach churned at the idea of him seeing all of you—every mark, every curve, every imperfection that you’d tried so hard to ignore but couldn’t help cataloging in moments like this.

“I just…” you started again, your voice quieter now, “I don’t want you to feel like this is a mistake. Like maybe the weird girl is hot when you're at work, but in the real world...” You trailed off, biting your lip hard to keep it from trembling.

Steve crouched slightly to meet your gaze, his hands gentle as they rested on your thighs, grounding you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice steady but insistent. “Look at me.”

When your eyes finally met his, the warmth in his expression nearly unraveled you. “You think I’m going to change my mind just because we take our clothes off? I'm rock hard in the middle of an adult section that smells like stale popcorn, and you think that's going to go away when your clothes are off? Really?" He asked incredulously, pausing to laugh at his own words. "That's pretty bold of you to assume."

Your breath hitched at the words. At his touch. The way his voice softened around your name. "Steve..."

"Seriously," he said, leaning a little closer. His voice was quiet now, almost a whisper, and his eyes darted between your eyes and your lips, his hands still gently kneading your thighs. "It's you that should be careful. I mean... I can barely focus on anything when you're just standing around in these jeans," he admitted, his eyes moving to your legs, his palms slowly moving up the curve of them. You bit your lip, heat flaring low in your stomach. "But naked?" His eyes returned to yours, his voice suddenly rough. "I wouldn't stand a chance."

Before you could even respond, he closed the distance, pressing his mouth to yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, his hands gently kneading the tops of your thighs. You moaned softly at his touch, your arms sliding over his shoulders and tangling in his hair as you melted against him. He wrapped one arm around you, pulling you to him, the other hand sliding up your waist.

"Now," he whispered against your lips as he went to lift your shirt a little again. "Can I continue where I left off, please?"

You smiled, kissing him in reply. You parted your lips, deepening the kiss. He moaned against your lips, his hand slowly trailing up your waist again, lifting your shirt up more this time. Your body tingled in anticipation of his hands on your skin, his fingertips warm on your bare stomach, slowly trailing up to your ribs, then higher still, his thumb brushing the edge of the cup of your bra.

Your head tipped back as he broke the kiss to trace his tongue over your collar bone, then dipped lower, his breath hot on the exposed skin as his thumb gently brushed your nipple through your bra, your back arching slightly at the sensation. He pressed another kiss to your throat, and you moaned as his hand dipped under your bra, cupping your breast and kneading the soft skin.

You slid a hand under his shirt, trailing your fingertips across his waist, tracing the trail of hair that lead lower, the muscles in his stomach contracting at your touch. His hand on your waist tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you took the hint, reluctantly pulling away for a moment to peel the fabric over your head. Steve let out a low groan at the sight of you in your bra, and you smiled shyly, letting him take a moment to appreciate your newly exposed skin. His hand went to the back of your neck, his touch firm, grounding as he leaned in to kiss you again. His free hand found its way to your other breast, palming it and gently tugging your bra strap down.

You were both panting now, his fingers on you and your fingers on him, and your whole body throbbing for more. You ran your palm along the front of his jeans, feeling the outline of him straining against the denim. His mouth left yours and moved to the skin above your bra as his hand left your chest and fumbled for the clasp at your back. You ran your nails over the front of his jeans, your own pulse racing. You had to touch him, you had to see him. Your fingers found his belt, but it was difficult to work with his hands on you and your mind a haze of arousal and nerves.

He seemed to be having the same problem, because after a few more attempts he stopped trying to work your bra clasp and tugged impatiently at the fabric, his voice husky.

"This—can you take this off? Or should we move? Because I can't—"

"Here," you gasped, shifting slightly and turning so your back was to him. "Try again."

Steve hummed softly in acknowledgement, his breath tickling your shoulder as he worked to free you from the offending fabric, his touch feather light and torturously slow. You leaned forward a little, letting your hair fall in a curtain over your face so he wouldn't see how much his teasing was affecting you. But you could feel the wetness between your legs, the ache of anticipation making your knees weak. Finally, with a quiet, satisfied noise, he freed you from your bra, and you sat back against the self again, letting your hair swing back to frame your face again as you watched his reaction to your body.

Steve's mouth dropped open at the sight of you, the slow grin tugging at his lips doing nothing to ease the ache.

"Well, this isn't fair," he breathed, standing straighter with one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair, as if to calm himself down. He looked over you as you leaned back, braced against your elbows. He then let out a long, deep exhale, his hands moving back to take his own shirt off. He paused about halfway through the motion to peer down at you, looking a little ridiculous with the collar halfway up his face, one arm free.

"Oh shit, sorry, did you want my shirt off too, or did you want me to leave it on, or—"

"Shirt. Off. Please," you said quickly. Steve grinned and finished the motion, tugging the tshirt off and letting it hit the floor. Your eyes darted to his torso, his skin flushed and his chest heaving slightly from the anticipation. He had a nice, lean build, with broad shoulders and a surprisingly strong-looking core. His chest hair was a light dusting that trailed across his pecs and tapered into a faint line down the center of his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. It added to his charm, giving him an effortlessly masculine edge. Your fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, to feel the softness of his skin under your palms, to trace the faint lines of his muscles beneath.

He definitely noticed you staring because he started grinning again, and when you noticed, he laughed a little. "What? Never seen a guy naked before?" he asked teasingly, making a joke of it to cover up the fact that he was suddenly a little self conscious under your scrutiny.

"You're beautiful." It spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it, and he looked surprised by the sincerity. His hands froze in mid-air and his eyes darted to yours. He opened his mouth to respond but nothing came out, so instead he cleared his throat and grinned shyly at the ground.

"Okay," he said, clearly trying to collect himself, and you realized that he'd been flustered. By you. A wave of pride flooded your stomach, and you bit your lip as your smile grew wider. You weren't usually so forward, and it had surprised you too, but you were glad it came out. "Okay. Let me just, uh, find my brain."

"You left it over there, on the floor. With your shirt." You smirked at him and his eyes narrowed at the playful teasing. He bent down to place both his hands on either side of you on the cart, caging you in as he leaned closer to you and pressed his forehead to yours. He gave a slight push of his hips against you, just to make you aware of how much you were affecting him, before cupping one of your breasts in his hand and letting out a breath. He took your nipple in his fingers and rolled it gently. You moaned at his touch, your thighs spreading a little wider.

The sound was affirmation enough for him to take your other nipple in his mouth, and you leaned into his touch as he circled his tongue around you. His teeth grazed over it, biting just slightly and making you whimper with need. You could feel him smirk against your skin, and he slid his free hand down to your stomach, then lower. His fingers grazed over your jeans and pressed firmly against you through the thick denim.

He paused with his hand right above your waistband and he lifted his head to look into your eyes. He was clearly trying to make sure that he wasn't overstepping any boundaries and was silently asking for permission to keep going.

"You can always say no." His voice was barely more than a whisper as his fingers played with the button of your pants, not wanting to rush you.

You didn't hesitate, just leaned into him and whispered, "Please touch me. Please."

He gave a low groan, pressing a hard kiss to your lips and biting down on your lower lip, before breaking away and dropping his gaze to your jeans. You watched, biting your lip as he flicked open the button, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his fingers underneath the fabric of both your jeans and your underwear. He dragged a single finger over the slick, swollen heat between your legs, and you let out a shaky breath. He sucked in a breath, clearly affected, and then dipped his finger lower to stroke along your entrance. You shivered, letting out a low moan and trying to pull him closer.

You felt his breath hot on your shoulder as his other hand moved to tug the rest of your pants off, giving him easier access to you.

"So wet already," he breathed, and the feel of his lips moving against the soft skin of your shoulder made your thighs twitch, the tension of anticipation nearly overwhelming. He traced circles around your entrance with one finger before pushing in slowly. His movements were cautious at first, gauging your reaction as he worked up a slow pace. But it wasn't enough, not when you'd been craving the release for what felt like forever. You spread your thighs, trying to pull him closer.

"More," you breathed, gripping his wrist to guide him deeper, faster, harder. Steve gave a low moan as his finger curled inside you, finding that one spot that made your whole body ache with pleasure. He added a second finger, pushing deep and pumping into you again and again as you ground your hips up to meet him, chasing the feeling, desperate for more. You looked up to find him watching you, his lips parted and his pupils blown wide.

He leaned down to kiss you again, and the change in angle sent a new wave of heat through your core, a whimper escaping you. His free hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you into him and holding you steady as he pressed his thumb to your clit. You cried out at the new sensation, and Steve broke the kiss to let you breathe, his lips still pressed against yours, your breath mingling in the space between. His eyes locked on yours, he curled his fingers again and began working them in earnest, the heel of his palm pressed hard against you as his fingers pushed deeper and deeper with every thrust.

The pleasure was building, every nerve on fire as your orgasm neared, every stroke of his hand, every graze of his thumb making the tension build higher. His fingers moved faster, and you moaned his name, clinging to his shoulder, his arm, your hips rising to meet his hand.

"You're like...way too good at this..." You breathed between whimpers. Steve grinned, slowing his movements and teasing you.

"Well, I do have a pretty decent reputation..."

You gave a frustrated growl at the sudden slow down.

"Steve," you whined.

He chuckled softly. "Mm-mm," he hummed against your ear, nipping at it as he slowly slid his fingers out. "Not so fast."

"Are you... you're really doing this? Now?" you panted, incredulous. You needed more of him, more of his touch, more of the release you had been so close to, but now he was denying you? You opened your eyes, watching as he grinned down at you while he began to unbutton his jeans, still wearing a smug expression as he slowly pushed them down over his hips and down his legs. Your eyes darted from his face to the obvious bulge in his boxers as you swallowed.

"You want to keep complaining?" He asked, pulling down the boxers a little before taking himself in his hand and slowly pumping once, twice. His eyes never left yours, the grin you were used to seeing every day coming back "Because we can stop."

You couldn't even pretend to be angry as your gaze flicked between his face and his cock.

"Oh. You are... that's..." you stammered, taking a second to drink in the sight of him, so close but still so far from where you needed him. The smug grin turned genuine at your reaction and he pumped himself a few more times as if he was putting on a show for you. He let go of himself to slide his boxers all the way down and then stepped out of them to kick them to the side. He put his hands on sides of the cart and gave it a small shove, testing its durability, which illicited a small laugh from you.

"What's wrong? Not confident that we can stay in one piece for a few more minutes?" You teased. He scoffed in mock offense, giving you a quick kiss that lingered as he pressed his lips to the corner of your mouth.

"It's just precaution. Don't want you complaining if I get too excited and end up breaking this thing." He pulled away slowly, looking at the cart for a moment, thinking. "Actually, maybe I can—"

You wrapped a leg around his waist before he could finish his thought, pulling him to you so he was nestled perfectly against your hips. "You could also start with taking these off me," you suggested, grabbing the sides of your panties and tugging at the fabric. Steve let out a breath, his hands immediately moving to help you, though his mind was clearly distracted by what he wanted to do next. You watched as he pulled down the fabric over your hips, then your thighs, before dropping it on top of your jeans. His eyes trailed over the newly exposed skin, a look of pure desire on his face, his gaze hungry.

"God," he breathed. "You are..."

But you never found out what he was going to say, because your impatient hands had found him again, and you were pumping him slowly, watching him shiver in anticipation. His fingers dug into your hips, his mouth dropping open slightly, his gaze locked on yours as you moved, letting the feeling of your touch overwhelm him for a moment before he pulled your hand away with a small chuckle.

"Fuck. I almost forgot..." He bent to find his jeans and fished around in his back pocket. When he pulled his wallet free, your eyes went wide as you realized what he was getting. He held the square, foil wrapper in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow at him as he went to open the wrapper with his teeth.

"You brought a condom to work with you? Why would you ever think you'd need it here? In Family Video?" You questioned as he opened the packet, spitting the excess foil to the side, before looking at you with a lopsided smile.

"What, you think I put it there just in case we ran out of videos to restock? I had it there for after work one day, just in case," he explained as if it was the most obvious thing. You rolled your eyes, smiling and giving a slight laugh. "I mean, not with you. Not like... I had it there just in case I went on a date." He paused to wince a little. "Wait, no, that doesn't sound any better, does it?"

"I get what you're trying to say," you reassured him as you laughed a little harder, before the conversation took a slightly serious turn.

You glanced between the condom he was holding in his hand, and him. He was hard, aching even, and he looked desperate for your touch. You felt a small wave of pride that you could turn him on so much, and that you had the opportunity to be with him like this. To touch him and be touched.

You licked your lips, then said, "Put it on."

You felt like a teenager again, waiting with bated breath while he carefully slipped on the condom, his own breath shuddering as his fingers moved along his cock. When he finished, he leaned over you, caging you against the shelf once again with his arms on either side of your waist.

"For the record, I was hoping to take you on a date before… this happened. After work some time. Y'know, really take you out. Watch a movie with you, get dinner, go back to my car," He whispered the last bit into your ear, before kissing it gently and adding, "maybe get you in the backseat. But we can save that for another night."

You were too caught up in the feel of him against you to fully process what he just implied. A second night. This wouldn't just be a one time thing, you'd get to do this again... and maybe more?

Before you could react to that, you felt Steve line up at your entrance and your brain seemed to go on autopilot, your focus shifting to how you were about to get exactly what you needed. Your legs parted a little more, your heels resting against the lower shelves for leverage, your back arching slightly so your chest pressed against his. He paused there, looking down at you for a moment. Your breath caught at his expression—he was watching you intently, his gaze fixed on your face, his lips parted, his cheeks flushed.

"You want this, right?" The genuine question took you aback. The vulnerability was back in his eyes, and it suddenly became clear to you how nervous he was. "I just want to be sure this isn't—"

"Steve," you said, cupping his face in your hand. "Yes. I want this."

His breath left him in a rush as his lips curled into a smile, his relief clear. Then he gave a slight push of his hips and began to slide into you. His cock started to stretch you out, his length filling you inch by inch, and you whimpered at the feeling, the sensation of him inside you so overwhelming after having gone so long without being with anyone yourself. Steve stopped, his head falling to your shoulder as he groaned.

"Oh, god... you feel... Jesus, you're—" he was breathing hard, his chest pressed to yours, his hands gripping the shelf. His cock pulsed inside you, and you were trembling from the tension of it, the sweet ache of being filled, the need to have him buried in you fully. You slid your hands up his back and wrapped your arms around him, holding him as close to you as possible. He let out a ragged breath, then pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck, just below your jaw.

"Are you okay? Is it too much? We can stop—"

"I'm okay, just please—"

"What? Anything, just say—"

"Please keep going. Please," you whimpered. Your thighs twitched around him and you tried to pull him deeper, your body aching for him, for release. The angle was different and new, and it felt incredible. "I need more... please, I want you, all of you... "

Your words spurred him on. His mouth found your neck, sucking lightly at the spot just below your ear as he slowly thrust deeper, and deeper, until he was buried inside you. You felt your inner muscles stretch to accommodate his size, the pressure making you gasp as your legs quivered and your body flushed. Steve groaned, his breathing ragged, his body taut as he waited for you to adjust, every muscle in his back tense.

"God, I don't know how long I can hold out," he whispered.

"Then don't," you said. Your nails dug into his skin and you clenched around his cock. Steve bit down on your shoulder as he began to thrust in long, hard strokes, the friction making your legs tremble as you tried to keep up.

He pressed you to him, his arm looped under your waist, pulling you down on his length, the slow slide making you see stars. His hand snaked down between you, finding your clit and stroking you as he began to pick up the pace, the pressure building with every thrust. His moans were quieter now, more breathy as he drove into you over and over, the rhythm steady as he fucked you in time to the thud of the shelf against the wall.

You could feel yourself approaching the edge, every nerve tingling, every inch of you burning for release. The pressure of his body on yours, the way he moved, his moans, his scent, his hands—everything was pushing you higher, faster. His cock twitched inside you and you moaned, your own orgasm building with every stroke, every thrust, every touch. His pace became more erratic as you moved against him, your legs spread, your back arched, the angle deep and intense.

"I'm... fuck, I'm going to..." he managed between pants. "I want you... to come first..."

The way his voice shook, his hips stuttering with the effort of holding himself back, made your chest swell. He wanted you to finish before him, he wanted you to feel good. And it did, it felt good—so good, too good. Your heart hammered in your chest, the pressure of it making you feel like it might burst. He pushed harder, his fingers moving faster on your clit.

"Steve—" His name escaped your lips, breathy, as your body started to unravel. The tension in your core built higher, your hips jerking, the shelf hitting the wall harder. Your vision blurred as a wave of pleasure rolled through you, and you gasped his name again as you came around him, your body shuddering. Your muscles clamped down hard, making his pace stutter as he tried to push through. Steve groaned, his forehead resting on yours, his fingers digging into your side. He kept his pace even, thrusting through the aftershocks and holding you through your release, his mouth hovering near yours as he panted and moaned. You slid your arms to his back and raked your nails down, dragging your hands across the planes of his body, reveling in how his muscles twitched as your touch moved along his spine and to his ass, and you pulled him in deeper.

The angle was different now, the pressure intense as his pace sped up and he started chasing his own orgasm, his cock filling you up completely and sliding against every inch of you, sending another wave of pleasure through you. He looked so beautiful above you, his hair disheveled and falling in front of his face, his expression pinched as his pace increased. You wrapped your arms around his waist to pull him closer and pressed a soft kiss to his neck. The tender touch made him shiver, and he pushed in hard and fast, his whole body going tense as his cock pulsed, the waves of his own release flooding through him. He moaned softly and your name tumbled from his lips.

For a moment you stayed there, his arms around you, his face pressed into your shoulder. Then, as the aftershocks ebbed away, he pulled out, giving you one last slow stroke as he did so. The loss of his touch made you whimper. You felt so empty now, aching for him, and you couldn't help but feel a little vulnerable at the thought of him pulling away from you. Steve stayed close for a moment longer, kissing you softly, tenderly, and you could feel your heart clench. He wasn't rushing off, he wasn't pushing you away. He was taking care of you.

Your body hummed with the lingering buzz of pleasure as Steve pulled off the condom, knotted the end, and threw it into the wastebasket in the corner, grinning proudly when it landed in the trash.

"Nice," he said, nodding as if impressed with himself. "And with my left hand, no less. Maybe I should have tried for pro basketball."

He was being a dingus again. A post-sex dingus, but still, a dingus. And it was such a relief.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, watching him carefully as he found his discarded clothing on the ground and began getting dressed. You had no idea what would come after, what the dynamic of things would be. What were the rules here? The guys you'd been with in the past didn't stick around to help you get dressed. You just put on your clothes, left the guys to clean up their mess, and went home.

"So," you said, taking your time to gather your own clothes from the bottom of the cart, putting your underwear on first. "Now what?"

He gave you a small grin, buttoning his pants as you grabbed your bra. "Now..." he trailed off, as if in thought. You slipped your bra over your arms, reaching back to do the clasps as best you could with limited reach. Steve noticed you struggling, and stepped towards you. He reached a hand up, motioning for you to turn around so that he could help you.

You did as he instructed, turning so that he had easy access to the hooks. His fingers grazed along the skin on your back as he slowly clasped each of them together. Once he finished, his hands slid up to your shoulders and he turned you around to face him again. You smiled up at him as you continued to put on your bra, adjusting yourself slightly. He didn't pull back right away. He kept his hands on you, running his thumbs across the fabric on your shoulders, a content smile on his face as he stared at you.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing that he seemed to be stuck in his head. He didn't answer you right away. His smile widened and he leaned down, kissing you gently. It was so soft and slow, that you forgot what you had asked him to begin with. All you could think about was his mouth on yours, and his hands on your waist, and the smell of his cologne and sweat, and the way his hair was completely messed up. He pulled away after a moment and you blinked, dazed.

"Nothing," he answered after what seemed like forever. "Just... this."

"This?" you asked. You could feel your heart racing again. He was still smiling, and he kissed you once more before pulling away and reaching down to pick up his shirt.

"This. You and me," he said, as if the answer was obvious. He pulled his shirt over his head and cocked his head at you as you began to put your jeans on, not answering. "Unless you didn't... I mean, I kind of assumed... unless you just wanted to forget this happened? That's not really my thing, but I mean, it's okay, we could pretend if—"

"I like you." It just blurted out of you and he froze, looking surprised. You realized you were holding your breath. He blinked.

"Really?"

"Really. But I mean... I know you like to take girls out, so maybe this was just a—"

"You really don't know me that well, do you?" he laughed. Your heart was hammering.

"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously. You'd said too much. He was going to take it back now. You knew he would.

"I mean..." he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, but he didn't look like he wanted to back down. "I'm not just gonna... y'know, get with you at work and then bail on you. I like you, I like... being around you. A lot. I wanna keep doing it. Just in other places. Like outside of this shithole. And definitely without my uniform on. I mean, unless you're into that. I could probably bring my uniform home."

Your mind was going in about twenty directions at once, and it took you a second to process what he'd just said. He'd never... he liked being around you. And he wanted to take you out. You realized your mouth was open slightly and you closed it, biting your lip and feeling a wave of relief.

"You like me?" you repeated. "Not... you actually want to be around me?"

Steve stared at you for a second, a mix of disbelief and concern on his face, like you were the biggest idiot in the world for doubting him. Then his eyes narrowed, like he'd suddenly understood. He grabbed your waist again and pulled you back into him, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you telling me I'm so bad at flirting you didn't realize I've had a crush on you for the past four months? Are you kidding me?" He laughed a little at that. "You're actually insane. I thought it was so obvious..."

"I... what?" you stammered. "No! I had no idea."

"I mean," Steve started, pulling away slightly as he began to run through the list of times he'd been blatantly obvious in his interest for you, "I'm always trying to spend more time with you, asking you about yourself, finding stupid ways to make you smile or laugh or just... you know... pay attention to you... and like, the way I talk about you. Robin constantly call me out on it." He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up a little more, which somehow only added to how endearing he looked.

"Well..." you mumbled, feeling your cheeks redden, "I just thought it was, y'know. Steve Harrington being Steve Harrington. Being a flirt."

Steve stared at you in silence for a moment, looking slightly disappointed that you were that clueless.

"Wait... do you really not know? About—" he looked up to the ceiling, and let out a short huff of air, before he looked back at you with his eyebrows raised. "The flirting, the winking, the talking about my parents not being home? Like... is it actually not obvious?"

Your face fell as you thought back on all the interactions the two of you had over the past few months, trying to pick up on clues. Had you really missed every hint that he had been dropping? You wanted to bury your head in your hands. You wanted the ground to swallow you up. But... he was still here. Still smiling. Still standing close and looking at you with the same interest that he'd had the whole night, since you had walked through the front door.

"You argue with me about everything, though," you said with a laugh, thinking of the many debates that the two of you had over what was a good movie, what was a bad one, which character in a movie was the hottest, if the latest rom com was really that good (spoiler: it wasn't), or even over the smallest, dumbest things that didn't even matter. "If I hadn't known you, I'd think that we just didn't like each other."

"That's just the chemistry," Steve shrugged, "You think I argue with all my coworkers about every little thing? Please." He chuckled as you blushed and shook your head, before he took another step closer to you, closing the distance between the two of you. "I like getting a rise out of you. You get so annoyed when you're trying to argue your point but can't think of the words. It's really cute."

You playfully nudged him with your elbow, before you finally put on the last of your clothes. Steve did the same, and when you looked down, you were both fully dressed. There was no trace that either of you had just fucked each other senseless a few moments ago. You glanced back up at him as he adjusted his vest.

"Lets go finish that deposit and then get the hell out of here."

You followed him back to the register, and he took the deposit bag and signed it, passing it to you. He waited patiently as you double checked to make sure that the deposit slip and the money matched. Once everything was correct, he gave a nod.

"Looks good. Ready to lock up?" he asked.

You nodded, and you both went to the breakroom to punch out. He opened the door for you, and you punched out on your time clock and gathered your things. You put your vest in your locker and closed it, turning around to see that Steve had already waited for you, patiently leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. You walked past him and out of the door, flipping the light switch as you walked out.

Whe you were outside the store, Steve locked the doors, then took the key and tossed it up and caught it. He turned and started walking backwards in the direction of the parking lot, as you headed to the bike rack to unlock your bike. Steve turned around, thinking you were right behind him and when he saw you at the bike rack, he spoke again.

"What are you doing? Are you riding that?"

"Um. Yes?" you raised an eyebrow, giving him a strange look as if to question what his problem was. "That's the plan. It's how I usually get home from work."

"It's freezing and it's late and I'm not letting you ride that back." He was being insistent. "No."

"Um. Yeah? It's really not that bad. I have a coat."

"Get in the car, leave your bike chained up. I have a morning shift tomorrow, I'll make sure it's there" he insisted, "Please? It's already past ten."

"Steve."

"C'mon. Just get in." he shrugged, his keys jingling in his hands. He wasn't going to budge and you were starting to get annoyed.

"It's really not—"

"Get in the damn car already." He rolled his eyes at you, clearly not buying the argument that you could get home by yourself and in one piece. It was dark outside, and a bit chilly, but that wasn't exactly uncommon for Hawkins. You sighed. You knew you wouldn't win this battle and it wasn't worth it to continue to argue.

"Fine. But just for the record, it's not that cold and I would have been fine. You know that."

"Mhm. Sure." Steve grinned, leading the way to the parking lot. When you got there, you stopped and glanced at all the empty cars and he frowned, before he gave a laugh of relief when he saw his BMW in the back corner. He unlocked the doors, you both climbed inside and he started the engine. He drove out of the parking lot, turning right onto the main street. You leaned your head on the window, your mind still spinning with the events of the last hour. Steve Harrington wanted you. You wanted Steve Harrington. This wasn't a one time thing, you could do this again. It was really happening.

As your eyes closed, you thought about the conversation you'd just had and something clicked. Steve's comment about him having a crush on you for months finally sank in. Your head whipped towards Steve in the driver's seat and you stared at him, as if you hadn't seen him in this light before. You couldn't help but stare. He was... perfect. He was absolutely, flawlessly beautiful and you just couldn't believe that someone like him could be so infatuated with someone like you. You leaned back in your seat, watching him carefully as he drove. You felt like you were going to burst, or pass out. You'd never been more attracted to someone before, but there was something else there. It felt more intense, more intense than it had felt before with anyone else. You felt your face turn a few shades of pink again as you thought of him.

The ride to your house wasn't a long one. Hawkins wasn't exactly known for being large, after all, and you didn't live too far from the store. Before you knew it, you were parked on the side of the road right in front of your driveway. You smiled at the sight of the familiar streetlight flickering every now and then. Home.

"Thanks," you mumbled quietly, as Steve put the car in park. "I... I mean... um, yeah, just... thanks." You fidgeted a little with the seatbelt strap and he nodded at you. He didn't move to take his hand off the wheel.

"Yeah... so," Steve gave a slight sigh as he leaned back, finally looking away from the windshield and meeting your eyes again. "Can we go back to talking about the whole you having no clue thing, because... I gotta be honest with you. I don't think I've ever been this embarrassed in my life. You thought I was just..."

You stared at him for a second, watching the way he spoke, watching how animated he was as he explained his side of the story, as if it had actually been some huge deal that you didn't notice him pining over you. The thought of it was... sweet, and it was such a contrast from what you thought you knew about him before. He really cared about how you felt.

"You know that I would never use you, right?" Steve continued. "Like I really like you. I think I made that pretty clear at the store, but like, if I made you uncomfortable or—"

You reached forward and took his hand in yours. You took it gently at first, testing to see his reaction, before he took your hand in return. He glanced down at where your fingers laced together, as his thumb moved over your skin.

"Steve," you interrupted softly, and his head tilted up to look back at you again. He had been rambling.

"Hm?" He asked, clearly unsure of how to react to what you just said. He watched as you brought his hand up to your mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand. When your gaze met his again, you smiled, feeling the warmth of your breath on his hand, your nose brushing against him.

"Take me out." It was a request, a gentle demand, as if he didn't know that you would follow him anywhere at this point.

He grinned at that. The idea was definitely appealing. You saw the wheels turning in his head, imagining all the places that you could go on a date. What movies you could see, which ones would be worth sitting through for two hours with you, and which ones wouldn't. You were certain he had the entire month mapped out already.

"Can I pick you up at five on Saturday? There's this drive in theatre down the next town over." Steve offered, his eyes lit up with excitement.

"Yeah, I'm off on Saturday."

"I know. I've been staring at that calendar in the breakroom all week. I know all the dates you have off." Steve explained, as you looked at him in awe, with your mouth hanging open in surprise. "What? I wasn't lying back there. I had been planning to ask you out."

He didn't seem ashamed to admit it either, as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, then brushed his fingers over your cheek, as if to check that you were really there. You leaned into the touch and he smiled, letting out a content sigh. He took your hand and pulled you towards him, pressing his lips to your temple.

"I should get inside, my parents are probably wondering why I'm home from work so late." You whispered, looking up at Steve, whose face fell. He pulled you a little closer to him, leaning his head down to meet you, as if he didn't want you to leave.

"Saturday." He said it more to remind himself than to remind you. "I'll pick you up here."

"I'll be ready. Promise." you grinned, and he nodded in confirmation. With that, he gave you one final kiss, pressing his lips gently to yours for what felt like an eternity, but ended up only being about three seconds, before letting you go. He sat back up, putting the car back into drive, as you reached for the door handle.

"Have a good night."

"Yeah. You too." Steve smiled as he put the car back in drive.

---

extra lil bonus scene for the platonic!Stobin lovers:

The next morning at Family Video, Steve leaned lazily against the counter, flipping through a stack of tapes with all the enthusiasm of a kid forced to do summer homework. Robin, meanwhile, was loading the last of the returns into a cart, muttering about how she always got the worst tasks.

“You could at least pretend to help,” Robin said, giving him a pointed look as she pushed the cart toward the back.

“I’m on very important rewinder duty,” Steve replied, smirking as he leaned back against the counter.

Robin rolled her eyes. “You’re on very important doing nothing duty.”

She disappeared into the aisles, her voice carrying back to him as she headed toward the adult section. “Why do I always get stuck with the beaded curtain of doom? I didn’t sign up to alphabetize Hawkins’ finest porn collection !”

“Because you’re the captain, and I’m just a humble first mate,” Steve called after her, grinning to himself.

A moment later, Robin’s horrified yell shattered the calm.

“STEVE!”

Steve’s heart leapt into his throat as he sprinted toward the back, shoving through the beads to find Robin standing stock-still, staring at the trash can with a look of utter disgust.

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked, panting slightly.

Robin pointed at the trash can like it was radioactive. “There is a used condom in the trash can!”

Steve froze, his stomach dropping. “Uh…”

Robin turned to him, her expression a mix of shock and dawning realization. “Wait. Wait. Harrington. No. Tell me you didn’t—”

“I—it’s not what it looks like!” Steve stammered, raising his hands in defense. “I mean, technically, it is what it looks like, but it’s not like that!”

Robin’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Oh my God, you and—wait— you and her?! In the adult section?!”

“No! Well… yes. But it wasn’t—it was after close!” Steve groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly panicking. “And it wasn’t planned ! It just… happened!”

Robin stared at him, blinking slowly. Then, she tilted her head. “So let me get this straight. You, Steve Harrington, had sex here, surrounded by titles like Butt Bandits 3 and Debbie Does Dallas? ”

Steve’s face turned bright red as he buried his face in his hands. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Robin then let out a bark of laughter. “Steve, do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found this and not Keith? Can you even imagine? He’d have a field day!”

Steve groaned again, his face still buried in his hands. “Please, don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m not joking!” Robin said, laughing harder now. “You’d never live it down. He’d probably give you some gross high-five and call you ‘stud’ every time he saw you.”

“God, please stop. I’m already dying of embarrassment.”

Robin folded her arms, a wicked grin on her face. “Oh, I’m not letting you off the hook that easily. Who even does this? At work, Steve? In the adult section? What, were you inspired by the ambiance?”

“It wasn’t planned!” Steve repeated, throwing his head back. “It just… happened!”

Robin smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it just happened. ”

“Robin,” Steve said, glaring at her. “Please. I’m begging you. Just pretend this didn’t happen.”

Robin pretended to consider it, then shrugged. “Fine. But you’re taking the trash out.”

“What? No way!”

“Oh, yes way,” she said, shoving the trash can toward him. “You made this mess. Literally. Now deal with it.”

Steve sighed dramatically, grabbing the trash can and stomping toward the back door as Robin’s laughter echoed behind him.

As he reached the exit, Robin called after him, her voice dripping with amusement. “Oh, and for the record? Since she clearly likes you back, maybe next time, take her somewhere that doesn’t smell like old popcorn and desperation!”

Steve froze mid-step, turning to glare at her. “Robin!”

She just grinned, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “Have fun with the trash, lover boy!”

Steve groaned loudly, stomping outside as Robin’s laughter rang through the store, the last thing he heard before the door slammed shut.

[stevesgother]

American Teenager - R.B

Pairing - Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

WC - 3.9k

Part 1 of the I Wish I Knew You series

General Warnings - internalized homophobia, regular homophobia, religious and evangelical themes/descriptions, cursing, drug/alcohol use, depictions of religious trauma, eventual smut

AN - before we even start let me disclaim: this series will explore heavy topics. a lot of it is self-indulgent, as a queer woman who grew up in the church. If you find any of the themes listed above triggering or upsetting in any way, DO NOT PROCEED. i’m so excited for you guys to read this one. With love ~ emma <3

On your fifteenth birthday, your father gave you a purity ring.

Today, the sun cascading through the delicate stained-glass windows reflects perfectly off the dainty diamond in its setting; your hands clasped in prayer.

‘Our Father, as we gather in Your presence, we thank You for the blessings of this day,’

Your father’s unwavering voice echoes the service’s concluding prayer over the congregation as you sit thigh to thigh with your mother, heads bowed. A singular pleated french braid fell neatly down your back, styled just how your mother liked it. The sanctuary smells of stale communion crackers and mildew. You silently scold yourself for wishing it would be time to leave already.

‘In Your holy name we pray,’

Amen.

The old wooden pews creak as the mass starts to funnel out of the church; a cacophony of chatter and laughter erupts throughout the room as different families begin to socialize. Sues and Annes, Toms and Franks– asking each other for prayer. ‘My husband got laid off.’ they’ll say, or ‘We’re having trouble conceiving.’

Sometimes when you watch them all flock together like this, you wonder if you’re being given a prophetic glimpse of your future.

“And Y/N, how are you and your boyfriend?”

You’re snapped out of your daze, “Sorry?”

“‘Ben’ is it? How are you and Ben doing?”

“Oh we’re–” you shake your head distractedly, hair swishing along the back of your perfectly ironed dress, “We’re good, thank you,”

“She and Ben are actually going to Princeton next year,” your mother adds triumphantly, “just received the acceptance letters last week!”

“Oh!” Your mother’s friend Dorothy squeals, “Isn’t that delightful?!”

“We’re very proud of her.” your father compliments as he wraps a tight arm around your shoulder, “She’s even going for ministry.”

“Well, that’s just wonderful,” Dorothy laments, “you know, I went to a bible college–” she looks at you in a stern, motherly way that makes sweat prickle at your brow, a bony finger dancing in your direction, “there is truly nothing better than committing your life to our Lord.”

This is the conversation you decide to ruminate on as you sit in front of your vanity mirror, brushing your braid out in a daze. You must’ve been sitting there, running that wide tooth comb through your hair, for at least ten minutes now– your delicate strands starting to break and frizz.

The worn pages of your leather-bound journal stick to one another as you fold it open, ready to spill your guts amongst the pages,

April 8th, 1986

Tomorrow is Monday. A new week, with new responsibilities. I’m scared to disappoint daddy, but I know he just wants the best for me. Ben came over for dinner tonight, momma really loves him, I think. I think he’s sweet. He’s been bringing me flowers more often. They’re always wrapped in brown paper instead of that ugly plastic you get at the grocery store. He’d make a good husband one day, don’t you think? Write again soon.

You always sign your name in your frilly cursive at the end of each passage as if anyone else would be writing in your diary except for you. You think it feels more formal that way. More official.

...

Eight o’clock is decidedly too early for band class. Your flute keeps drooping in your hands, your notes are flat, and your breath support is terrible. Maybe your lingering drowsiness is just the excuse you’re using to deflect from the fact that what’s really distracting you is a girl across the room that you’ve never seen before, standing awkwardly and tuning her trumpet.

She’s sporting chipped, black nail polish and bright red converse covered in inky doodles. Her hair is a sandy blonde color and looks just a little chemically damaged like maybe she’d bleached it recently. It’s miles shorter than yours, though– resting just above her shoulders.

The girl doesn’t pay you any mind, nor anyone else for that matter. Mrs. Foster didn’t even introduce her to the class, and there certainly weren’t any students lining up to meet her. She stood out like a sore thumb and her style reminded you a bit of that one super senior who was still in Mrs. O’Donnell’s English class. It makes you wonder where she came from, and why on Earth she would ever come here. Two months before graduation, no less.

She had her instrument packed and was standing by the door before the bell even rang. You hoped distantly that she had someone to sit with at lunch. Claire and Ben would be totally pissed if you ditched them to keep her company otherwise.

When you got to the cafeteria, the two of them were already seated, waiting for you and looking as if they were squabbling about something stupid again. Nothing new.

“Oh, don’t have a cow, Claire,” you hear your boyfriend say as you sit beside him. He takes a generous bite of a ham and cheese sandwich and speaks with his mouth full, “your life is hardly over.” It always makes your stomach churn when he does that. He could be so boyish and gross sometimes.

“A ‘C’ is totally gonna bring down my GPA!” Claire cries in response.

“Didn’t you like, already get accepted into your top school?” You ask carefully, as not to rock the boat. Claire was like that: easily agitated. Every conversation with her felt like walking a tightrope.

Claire scoffs, “You know, some of us actually have to work for our futures?”

Ben cuts in, somehow foreseeing the words about to spew out of her mouth, “Claire, don’t–”

“--Not all of our daddies can just buy our way into ministry school. You don’t even have to know anything to get into those programs, for Christ’s sake.” She spits, a scowl painting her face.

She’s not usually so cruel. As angry as you want to be, pesky tears prick the corners of your eyes. Why must you cry for every emotion?

“That’s not fair,” you say, trying your hardest to sound stoic but the wobble in your voice betrays you. If there’s one thing Claire hates, it’s weakness. She’s like a damned army general sometimes– every tear that rolls down your cheek just fuels her anger.

She wasn’t always this way. There was a time, before Ben and before high school, where the two of you were inseparable. Hanging upside down from your knees on the monkey bars and sharing cherry popsicles in a blistering summer heat. Claire was like the sister you never had– and now? Now a sickly, dreadful feeling washed over you every time you anticipated seeing her.

“You’re right,” Claire snaps, “It’s not.”

“You know how hard I worked to get into Princeton.” You defend.

“Please, spare me. It’s all any of us have been hearing about all year.”

“Claire–” Ben spits through clenched teeth.

Without another word to either of them, you collect your things and make a beeline for the girl's bathroom. Your boyfriend picks his jaw up off the floor in time to catch you by the forearm as you’re making a run for it.

“Hey, no, wait–”

“Leave me alone, Ben,” you say as you try and wriggle your arm from his grip, tears still breaching your lash line.

“She’s just–” he searches, “she’s just stressed out.”

“And you would know right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll talk to you later, Ben,”

As you’re walking away, you catch bits and pieces of a hushed conversation between your friends as your boyfriend sits back down.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Claire, enough. You know how her dad is.’

You don’t bother listening to the rest of their bickering. It doesn’t matter.

The swinging door of the restroom pushes open with a creak. You approach the large mirror mounted above the sinks, getting an up-close and personal look at your skin under the harshest fluorescent lighting you’ve ever seen. You look like a corpse and your mascara is running in two distinct paths down your cheeks.

It’s as you're aggressively wiping the streaked makeup off your face that you hear a small sniffle emanating from the stall behind you. You freeze momentarily, having previously been under the assumption that you were alone.

“Hello?” You call quietly into the void.

Only another sniffle echoes back at you.

“Is… someone there?”

A meek ‘yeah’ emanates from behind the stall door.

“Who is it?”

The stall door pushes open to reveal a disheveled looking girl. The girl from band.

The entire front of her is covered in some lumpy substance, you don’t even attempt at a guess at what it is. Maybe mashed potatoes? Maybe chocolate milk? Both?

Neither of you say anything for a moment, until you break the silence with a super helpful, “Oh my gosh…are you okay?”

“Well, other than Tommy H and his gaggle of idiots dowsing me in concoction of–” she glances down at her soiled clothes, “whatever the hell this is, I’d say pretty I’m dandy.”

You grimace in disgust on her behalf– can practically feel your own clothes stinking and sticking to your skin just by looking at hers, “I’m so sorry, they’re…” you can’t seem to find any appropriate words to describe that group of degenerates.

“Assholes?” She offers.

“Sure,” you chuckle, thankful that she filled in the blank for you.

She begins yanking paper towels from the machine hanging on the wall, running them under the faucet and wiping them down the front of her t-shirt, but to no avail.

“Shit!”

“Do you… have a change of clothes?” You ask hesitantly as she’s still furiously scrubbing.

“No, and my mom’s totally gonna murder me if I come home like this! She just bought me this shirt after I’d been begging and begging for it, and then when she finally did buy it, she just told kept telling me how expensive it was and then I felt bad and now I–”

You’ve never heard someone talk as fast as her in your life. Like actually ever.

“Hey, okay–” you cut her off, “why don’t we leave a little early? I can bring you back to my house and you can wear something of mine?” You gesture to her, “And I can wash your shirt.”

“Are you sure?” She winces, fully preparing for this to be just another esoteric joke at her expense.

In all honesty, you really weren’t sure. You’d never skipped school before, let alone brought a friend home without your parents meeting their parents first and giving you the greenlight. This was uncharted territory for you, but the girl’s wide and pleading blue eyes were chipping at your resolve. You wanted to help her.

“Yeah, of course,”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she deflates in relief, you can practically see the tension leaving her shoulders in real time. “I’m Robin, by the way.” She says, sticking out her hand for you to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Robin.” You smile and return the gesture.

...

On the ride back to your house, you learned that Robin walked to school every day all the way from where she lived in Forest Hills trailer park. Some deducing led you to the conclusion that that's at least a thirty-five minute walk both ways. She’d worried aloud and picked at the loose threads of her jeans the entire drive to your neighborhood, clearly scared of ruining the upholstery of your car; but you really didn’t mind. You were just glad to save her the trek home.

Your family wasn’t what you would consider ‘wealthy’, but to Robin, your upper middle-class home might as well have been a millionaire’s vacation house.

“So…this is me,” you state as you lead her inside, “I can give you the tour after you change, if you want?”

She looks a little awestruck, taking in her surroundings like a kid in a candy shop, “Yeah, sure…” she replies distractedly.

You lead her upstairs to your bedroom. It’s much nicer than Robin’s– just like the rest of your house– and much girlier too. All four walls are a shade of pale pink, adorned with posters of famous pop stars like Madonna and Blondie. The patchwork quilt that covers your bed matches the rest of the room's aesthetic laced with a frilly trim.

“Here’s a shirt and a pair of sweatpants,” you hold the pile of clothes out to Robin, breaking her stupor, “I hope they fit alright,”

“No, I’m sure they’ll fit great,” a beat of silence, “Where can I uhm–change?”

“Oh, duh– right, sorry,” you say with a palm to your forehead, “there’s a bathroom down the hall and to the left.”

You’re on edge the entire time you’re showing Robin around your house. Logically, you know both of your parents are at work, but the knowledge doesn’t help to ease the anxiety you feel at the thought of your father coming home to find a stranger in your house. You know what he would say about Robin– Robin and her kitchen scissor haircut and her black nail polish and pierced ears.

“Dude, you have two living rooms?” Robin asks in disbelief.

“Well, technically one’s a living room and one’s a…sitting room,” you cringe inwardly as you try to defend yourself but only feeling like a pretentious asshole the moment the words leave your mouth.

“I’ve never even had a second floor in any house I've lived in before,” she admits.

“Do you move around a lot?”

“I guess? But it’s just my mom and I now.” She answers.

“I’ve always lived here–” you start to say but are quickly cut off by the blur of Robin’s figure rushing past you and to your entertainment center.

“Holy shit! Is this an Atari?” She picks it up excitedly– the way she handles it admittedly makes you a little tense.

You laugh despite yourself at her bewilderment, “Yeah, do you wanna play while we wait for your clothes to finish in the wash?”

“Uhm, are you kidding? Obviously!”

So that’s how you spend the next two hours: thigh to thigh on your sofa with this hyper, golden retriever of a girl you just met less than a day ago, playing Slot Racers for long after her clothes are finished drying.

Just as you were about to beat Robin for the third race in a row, you hear the telltale sound of a key turning in the lock of your front door.

To say your father– who clearly was not expecting anyone to be home yet– was surprised, would be an understatement.

“Y/N?”

“Dad!” You shout, whipping around from where you’re sitting on the couch, “What’re you doing home already?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh I– I uhm–” you stumble over yourself as you watch your worst fear become a terrifying reality.

“Why is there a stranger in my house?” He asks, interrupting your attempts at explaining yourself.

“Oh, this is–”

Robin shoots up rather abruptly from beside you, sticking her hand out stiffly– just like she did in the bathroom earlier, “Hi, I’m– my name’s Robin, it’s nice to meet you.”

She clears her throat nervously as she waits for your father to return the gesture as you had, but he doesn’t. He keeps his focus solely on you.

“Why is Robin in my house when your mother and I are not here?”

“Earlier, at school, Robin spilled something on her shirt. We came back here so she could wash it.” You know before you even offer it that your explanation isn’t going to cut it. You’re not getting off the hook this time.

“I see. I want you to take Robin back to her own house, and then I want you coming straight back here. Do you understand?”

“Yes–”

“‘Yes’ what?”

“Yes, sir.”

He waves you away with this hand, signaling you to grab Robin by her wrist to drag her to the washer and dryer unit next to your kitchen. You pluck her outfit from the machine and wordlessly lead her back to your car parked in the driveway.

It’s not until you’re idling in Robin’s driveway with her stark presence still beside you that you’re able to clock how fast you’re breathing.

“Hey,” she grazes your forearm with her slender, ring clad fingers, “are you okay?”

“Yeah!” You reassure her a little too quickly, “Yeah, my dads just– he can be a little strict sometimes, you know?”

“Yeah, believe me, I get it,” she chuckles, but it's mostly humorless, “my moms a lot like that too– I’m honestly still trying to figure out how I’m gonna explain why I’m wearing someone else’s clothes.”

“Maybe just say you got too sweaty during PE?”

That elicits a real laugh from Robin, one where you can see all her teeth as she throws her head back against the passenger seat. You think it’s the first time you’ve seen it but subconsciously hoping it won’t be the last.

“Honestly? Best case scenario is that she’s passed out, wine drunk, on the couch.”

She tries to mask the inherent sadness of her statement with another small giggle, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Well– here,” you say, grabbing a pen out of your glovebox and her hand, “just in case she is awake, you can call me, and I'll tell her what happened,” you offer, scribbling your landline’s number on her clammy palm.

“Thanks,” she smiles shyly, looking up at you through her lashes.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” You ask, “In band?”

“Yeah, I’ll– I’ll see you then,” she calls back with a two-finger salute as she shuts the door to your passenger seat and walks backwards towards her house.

You’re not sure what compels you to wait, parked in her driveway until you see her cross the threshold of her trailer door, but you do.

...

There is hell to pay when you get home.

Both of your parents sit side by side on the couch you had just sat on with Robin not more than thirty minutes ago.

Had he seriously called your mother home from work for this?

There's nothing polite or welcoming about their demeanor. Their posture is straight and hard, like two stone statues sitting in a stark contrast to the living room that’s all soft cushions and handmade quilts.

“Sit.” Your father commands.

So, you do, in the armchair across the room from them. Palms beginning to sweat.

You try to mirror their posture out of habit but find that you can’t will yourself to be so cold as them. You’re a human girl, after all. Sometimes you think the same can’t be said about your mother and father. You wonder what they talk about when you’re not around.

“I don’t want you hanging around that girl anymore,” your father speaks again. He spits the word ‘girl’ out of his mouth like its poison– like it may physically harm him to house between his teeth for even a second longer, “she’s a bad influence on you.”

“You don’t even know her–” you try to protest, though you saw this coming.

“Perhaps we could’ve gotten the chance to if you hadn’t snuck her into the house!” Your mother butts in, “You’ve never done something like this before! I simply don’t understand it.”

“I–”

“I mean, really, what’s gotten into you?” She asks, though you know the question is rhetorical. She’s not truly expecting an answer.

“I’m sorry,” you say, defeated, “It won’t happen again.”

“Go wash up. Supper is in an hour.” Your father dismisses you.

Upstairs, you can hear their hushed voices arguing about what to do with you as if they found you smoking pot or something. Or maybe even having unprotected, pre-marital sex with your boyfriend and them sleeping in the room next door. What you actually did feels wildly inconsequential in comparison, but then again, you’d never really broken a house rule before.

You poked and prodded at your shepherd's pie for an hour before they finally sent you away from the dining table. You thought about Robin approximately every four and a half minutes. You don’t know what it was about her that made you lose your appetite, but not in the way you do when you’re angry or sad– in the way you do before a big test, or maybe prom night. The moths in your gut too restless, taking up far too much space for any food.

Tossing and turning in your bed, you kept imagining your phone ringing. The phantom sound of it driving you nearly insane. And when it does finally ring, you think you’re not really hearing it.

Picking up the receiver and placing it adjacent to your ear, expecting to hear the distinct but strangely familiar rasp of Robin’s voice on the other line.

“Hey, babe,”

Ben.

You ignore the way your stomach drops slightly in disappointment, “Hey, Ben.”

“Where’d you go earlier? I didn’t see you in sixth period.”

“Yeah, I–” Think of something. Quickly. “I wasn’t feeling well. Went home early.”

“Oh, Okay. A couple people said they saw you leaving with this girl? Thought maybe you’d ditched, but then I thought ‘that’s crazy, she’d never do that.’” He laughed as if it was the most preposterous thing he’d ever heard. Ben. Your sweet, naive Ben.

Your reciprocated laughter sounds a touch more nervous and less sincere than his, “Gosh, no,”

A feminine giggle breaks the barrier of the call.

“Is someone there?” You ask.

“What?”

“I thought I heard something. A laugh, maybe?”

“TV’s on downstair, baby.”

You don’t think to question it again. Ben may be dull, but he’s not a liar.

When you don’t speak again, he asks, “So, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, you’ll see me tomorrow.”

“Sweet, love you.”

He hangs up the phone before you get the chance to say it back. You don’t know why, but you’re grateful. You can’t help but notice that he’d never asked you how you were feeling. Obviously, you weren’t really sick, but he had at least thought you were.

You put it out of your mind as you open your journal:

Dear diary,

I met this girl today. She’s lanky. And tall. And has short brown hair. Her clothes are a little beat up, but in that cool way I can never seem to do on purpose. I found her crying in the bathroom, which was a little awkward. Turns out we’re both in the marching band! I know we’re graduating soon and all but, I don’t know maybe we could end up being friends? I feel like Claire’s been totally in her own world lately. She actually said some really harsh things to me at lunch today. I also ditched school. I feel guilty. I prayed about it, repented too, but momma and daddy are still really mad at me. But I was doing it to help someone! That girl, her name is Robin. I don’t know her last name. I’ll remember to ask her tomorrow morning.

divider credit to @/saradika-graphics

[yasministration]

Fire pit confessions - Robin Buckley

summary: you know robin likes you, and finally act on your reciprocated feelings at a party. wc: 1k+

You know. Of course you know. Any girl who liked women could take one look at Robin Buckley and call it. But it didn't help that she didn't know about you. Her crush was a little too obvious, stuttering whenever you were around, her cheeks turning bright pink, but you didn't want to make the first move — you never did. You liked to think that you were too classy to make the first move on someone, liking the chase, playing hard to get. However, with someone as clueless as Robin, you assumed you had to take the first step forward. At first, you considered telling Steve about your crush on his friend in hopes that he would spill the news to her, but that might get a little out of hand, and the last thing you wanted were rumours floating around the small town about you and some girl.

Weeks passed by of you waiting for the perfect opportunity to hint your feelings to the girl, but it was never the right time. Hang outs started and ended, with you and Robin sitting next to each other, her arm slung around your shoulder, tugging you close to her chest. As friends. Friends and nothing more. Tonight, you carefully pushed her arm off of you, standing up to get another drink from Steve's kitchen with Nancy and Eddie. It was only then that you realised the gravity of the situation. "You have to tell her." Nancy immediately insisted once the door slammed closed behind you. "Yeah, it's difficult to watch you guys go on like that as only friends." Eddie added, cracking a can of bear open. You laughed nervously, averting your gaze to the choice of drinks. "Is it really that obvious?" You asked, only to get a unanimous yell of "So obvious!" From your two friends.

You shook your head in amusement "I've tried, but there's never the right moment!" Nancy crossed the kitchen, pausing at the door with her hand on the handle. "Party this Friday in this house. Tell her then." Eddie hummed in agreement, following the girl out the room without waiting for your answer.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Steve and Robin watched as the three of you left the room in a search for more drinks, and Steve shot Robin a look, only opening his mouth when he heard the slam of the kitchen door closing. "Robin you're literally cuddling her! You have to tell her!" Robin shook her head adamantly. "Not a chance. She's letting me hold her like that as a friend, not as a lesbian, Steve!" Steve's expression turned desperate, pleading "Please Robin, I'm begging you. I can't handle the sight of the two of you cluelessly flirting anymore!"

"It's not flirting! She's being nice and I'm being so so dumb. I literally can't speak to her." Steve sighed at the response, running a hand through his hair in surrender. He didn't know how much more encouraging he could do. He only hoped that Nancy and Eddie would have more success trying to convince you than he did with Robin.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

Robin didn’t like these parties, she decided, standing in a corner and watching as people danced along to the loud music. Actually, she always knew she didn’t like them, but she always enjoyed your company. After dancing for a couple of hours, you would always find her in a quieter area of the house, or in the backyard with a drink. You’d talk tipsily, letting Robin wrap her arms around you as you hiccuped quietly.

Tonight was no different. At least, from her side. For you, everything was different. You made sure to stay glued to the dance floor, drinking a little bit more than usual. A mix of distracting yourself from what you had to do, and gathering liquid courage. Nancy and Eddie had warned you that if you didn’t get it done tonight, they’d take action. You danced with your cup in the air, chanting along a repetition of lyrics with those around you. Your eyes shot to where Robin usually stood watching you, and you smiled in reassurance when your gaze met hers. You gestured for her to join you on the dance floor but she merely shook her head no.

The smile on your face dropped when Robin began making her way outside, and you instantly started pushing your way through the crowd of people to follow her. You stopped by the kitchen, downing a nasty shot of vodka that made you cough for a good few seconds, before finally making a beeline to Steve’s back yard. It was still early, so the backyard was mostly empty apart from Eddie and Nancy smoking by the pool. Robin sat on the couch around the fire pit, legs spread as she stared into the crackling fire. “Robin.” You called out in a sing-song voice, catching her attention before you slumped on the couch next to her. “Hey you.” She said, a wide smile on her face. God, was it contagious. “You didn’t have to follow me out here.” Robin muttered, though she wrapped an arm around your shoulder nonetheless. You hummed in satisfaction, both your hands snaking around her waist to cuddle closer to her. “Wanted to.” You responded, digging your face into the crook of her neck.

You don’t know what forces take over your body when you decide to press a kiss on Robin’s neck, but you instantly feel her tense up, the short hairs on her neck standing up straight. She whispers your name, not a warning but an inquiry. “Let me kiss you Robin.” You murmur, pushing yourself up so you can look at her properly. She looks shocked more than anything, but finally she asks “Why would you want to kiss me?” You sigh, raising your eyebrows and cocking your head to the side as you put a hand on your hip. “Because I like you, stupid.”

You don’t wait for Robin to utter another word, leaning closer to Robin to softly press your lips against hers. The kiss doesn’t last long. You pull away to look at her face, watching as she opens her eyes, turning to glance at the party going on inside the house before cupping your cheek and pulling you into another kiss. You let yourself fall against Robin, moaning softly into the kiss, a hand trailing to grip her hip.

When you finally pull away, it isn’t you nor Robin who speaks first, but rather Eddie, you exclaims “Well that’s one way to do it.”

[vapekingg]

Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader Fluff/angst 18+ for suggestive mentions WK - 4.3k TW for homophobic slurs Closeted reader and Robin, first kiss, first date, drive in date, Steddie setting up Robin and reader.

The overhead bell at Family Video dinged above you as you pushed your way into the air conditioned storefront.

“Right on time.” Steve said from the checkout counter. 

He was glancing down at his watch, boyfriend and best friend huddled around him as usual. You’d made a habit of checking out two or three movies every week just to have an excuse to wander over from your job at the record shop next door. 

“I take lunch at two o’clock every day, dingus.” You replied. 

Robin couldn’t help but to smile. She’d noticed you’d picked up that nickname for Steve after hearing her call him it a time or two. 

But she couldn’t smile for too long. Couldn’t let her eyes linger too heavily on the fray of your denim shorts — or more accurately, the flawless skin that sat just beneath it like a colliding estuary. Couldn’t let you know that she adored you in that way. 

Robin took a step back when you approached the counter. Sometimes she felt scared to even be around you, like you could smell the fag shedding off of her. As if she was sickly. Contagious. That’s what people would say behind her back if they knew. 

“Got anything new in?” You asked while sliding Steve the VHS you’d barely had for twenty-four hours. 

“Since you came in yesterday?” He cocked an eyebrow, “No.” 

“New release at the drive-in tonight though. Elm Street 4.” Eddie mentioned from your side of the desk. It was so miserable out that even he’d shed the leather jacket you typically saw him wearing, settling for a simple all black get up with that telling bandana hanging out the back of his jeans. 

“Eh, let me know when it comes in. Last time I went to the drive-in alone some high schooler tried to hop in my passenger seat and cop a feel.” You mentioned. 

You were content with watching re-runs on television late into the night while curled up on your sofa, you supposed. But a part of you wished you could just ask Robin to accompany you to that fucking movie. 

“No goddamn way she’s not into chicks,” your co-workers told you to every time you came back from leaning over that fucking service desk during your half hour lunch. “She hangs out with Steve and Eddie all day, for fuck’s sake!”

Fuck, how you wished you could believe it as easily as they did. Even if you did believe it, it was easier just to protect your ego. 

What if you made a move and she wasn’t into it? Would she recoil like she’d been shocked by a live wire? Maybe she’d use one of those hurtful words that you’d only heard while kissing girls outside of bars in the city. It was less painful to not take the chance. At least this way you could admire her from afar — on your lunch break, while she was dressed in that adorable uniform that fit her so well. 

“Why don’t you go with her, Robin?” Steve said, ripping you out of your daydream and forcing fear up your spine like the knived fingers of Krueger himself. “You love the Elm Street movies.”

Robin’s baby blues widened from sudden anxiety. She used them to stare at Steve frantically, as if he hadn’t been the one to just thrust her into this situation in the first place. Instead, all she received from him was raised eyebrows and a humored smile while her own mouth failed to produce words. 

“I, uh—” Robin stuttered, “I think I close tonight, actually!”

“Negative. Harrington closes tonight.” Eddie replied with cheek. Of course he had his own boyfriend’s work schedule down pat. God only knows how they defiled that check-out counter once Robin left those two alone in the evenings. 

You cocked an eyebrow at her. The way your bubblegum peeked out from between your teeth when your lips parted into a smile had her wondering how sugary sweet it tasted — how sugary sweet you tasted. 

“Don’t wanna be seen in my hatchback, Buckley? I’ll let you play DJ on the way there.”

Robin could feel the blood pumping through her veins. Every beat of her heart became so increasingly violent she could hear it in her ears. Of course she wanted to sit shotgun to you while you toted her around, but even the occupation of passenger princess came with its anxieties. What music to play, directions to give, do you hold a conversation or is that too distracting?

“Yes.” She burped out, and it sounded much like a bubble popping or a bullfrog croaking late in the night. All three of you looked at her with confusion. 

“Yes, what?” You asked. “Yes, we’re going?”

“Ye—yeah, that. Let’s go!” She continued after flitting her eyes to Steve and then immediately away. “I get off at six, movie starts at seven. Pick me up at my house?”

She followed the question with that nervous, adorable half-smile you often saw — and adored — right after she did something embarrassing, but there was no excuse to be embarrassed here. 

“Okay.” You said with disbelief. “Okay, yeah. You live off of Rosewood, right?”

She nodded through a broken grin and you began backing up toward the door. There was still plenty of time left on your lunch break, but suddenly Family Video felt even hotter than late August in Indiana and you needed air. Why was there no air in this goddamn building?

“Great,” you said in time with the bell above the front door. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

**********

“Cool, you finally asked her on a date!”

“I didn’t ask her on a date,” you told Mitch, your coworker, for the fifth time. “And I don’t even think it’s a date! Harrington kinda just set us up on some weird playdate like moms do with their socially awkward kids so they can get some alone time.”

You’d been trying for the past two hours to sort through the boxes of new inventory, but with your brain so scrambled, Blondie and Bowie read the exact same. Besides, you couldn’t get that adorable pout out of your head. The way Robin had looked so pitiful when she’d realized you were making an abrupt escape from such a sticky situation.

Sticky, because sometimes being queer felt like a glue trap sitting on your skin. Like you were a little mouse frantically trying to pull yourself free, or a fly hanging midair on a strip of paper. Sometimes you thought it might kill you.

“What’re you gonna wear?” Tiffany asked from behind the register. 

You looked down at your sprawled out form, comfortable and covered in records on the floor of the shop.

“This?”

“That?” She asked again. “You look like fucking Munson.”

It was true that you and Eddie shared a few qualities, at least when it came to style. The frayed hem of your shorts tickled your thighs and was mostly chosen for aesthetic purposes, but the cut off sleeves of your Iron Maiden t-shirt were purely practical. It was too goddamn hot to not show a little skin. 

“Robin dresses like a fucking dad. I’m wearing this, Tiff.” You reiterated.

Tiffany shrugged and went back to her counting, as if to say something along the lines of, “It’s your funeral.”

You stood in front of your mirror after your shift that afternoon.

Would it be your funeral if you wore the same outfit you’d been seen in earlier that evening? Maybe Robin didn’t like the way you dressed. If she didn’t like your cut offs, this very well could be the death of something that hadn’t even started yet. 

You held up top after top in front of your chest, shorts after shorts before your waist and nothing seemed perfect. You wouldn’t wear a dress to the movies with a straight girl – which is all that you could assume Robin was, and all she could assume you were as well. So you remained in your cut off shorts and Iron Maiden tank top while sliding your sunglasses off of your forehead to face the blinding late afternoon rays. Grabbing your keys off of the counter seems like a battle in and of itself, as if holding them in your hand meant that you had to get in your car and make a fool of yourself, but you combated that thought by snatching them up quickly. Hardly giving yourself enough time to talk yourself out of the date that you’d been set up on. 

But calling it that was dangerous. Presumptions got people killed. That’s what Steve and Eddie and Tiffany and Mitch failed to understand. 

You’d heard the stories in the city. They were talked about loudly while you flirted with girls at gay bars in Indianapolis — how another queer teenager had been killed, a casualty of the growing “gay panic” that seemed to be the excuse of every homophobic, bloodthirsty meathead that was looking for an excuse to rough someone up. 

Those thoughts faded away with the roar of your engine, and soon you were heading down Peony Circle, then Dahlia Street, and then Rosewood Drive. You recognized her house from the many birthday parties your mother had forced you to go to as a kid, until birthday parties became uncool — or at least until Robin stopped handing out invitations. 

She was waiting outside for you. And Jesus Christ, the way she knocked her knees together while sitting on the front steps of her porch caused you to pump the brake just a little bit harder. 

You liked Robin’s freckles the most. You liked how they didn’t stop at her cheeks, rather decorated her body in constellations. Even her shins and arms. Now that she was out of her Family Video uniform and adorned in a more comfortable pair of shorts and tank top, you could see the spots splattered across her chest, too, and that alone made heat fill your face. 

“I think I prefer your uniform.” You teased as she plopped herself down into your passenger seat. 

“Oh, shut up.” Robin spat with no malice, but the rasp of her voice never failed to make your heart swell. “I can’t believe you don’t have one. How long do we have?”

You glanced at the clock on your dashboard and signaled a three and then a zero with your free hand while popping a cigarette between your lips with the other. 

“Want one?” You asked. 

And to your soul crushing dismay, Robin visibly recoiled. 

“Gross.”

Immediately, back into the pack it went. 

She chose a Joan Jett & the Blackhearts album for the drive, which was to be expected. It wasn’t like you had any Madonna or Bowie albums lying around for her to choose from. And even if it wasn’t exactly her style, Robin put her feet up on your dashboard and tapped her toes along to the beat of Crimson and Clover like she’d been here before. Like you picking her up and toting her around was an everyday occurrence. Like she belonged in your passenger seat. 

“I got it.” You told her when she tried to hand you a few crumpled up dollars as you pulled up to the gate, then handed the teller a fiver. Enough to cover the bill for both of you. The drive-in on a Friday night was a lot like a no man’s land. Everyone in Hawkins seemed to flock there for a bit of entertainment and respite from the summer heat once the sun went down. The layout was structured:

In the first set of rows were families with screaming, playing children and nervous first dates. Little boys and girls running around outside of cars with bubble wands and teenage couples who got there earlier enough for a good parking spot, that way there was no pressure to make out or fool around in the back seat once the stars aligned. In the second rows were those that needed the stars to align. The lovestruck couples that couldn’t wait for the lights to dim over Indiana, just so they could get a taste of each other. The second batch or rows meant heated touches and wandering hands, fogged up windows and cries muffled into a cigarette burnt seat cushion. It was sweaty, once in a lifetime summertime teenage love that one looks back on well into their life and reminisces just for a moment before continuing on with their day. 

Had you gotten there earlier, maybe you could have been one of those second rowers. God knows you needed the stars to align. You needed Robin to be like you, needed someone in this town besides fucking Steve and Eddie to be queer and not be afraid to show it. 

Instead, you parked your hatchback at the very back of the lot, where high schoolers and washed up jocks roamed the gravel like lions during a feeding frenzy.

“You’re sure about this?” Robin asked, nerves settling into her throat and weeping out through her tone of voice. You could see it painted on her face when she glanced past you and noticed Jason Carver leaned against the hood of his car, still sporting his letterman jacket from three years ago.

“We can go grab a movie at work and go back to yours instead?”

“I think we’ll be okay.” You said while flashing her a half-hearted smile, “Just… lock your door.” But the look on Andy’s face when you stole another glance their direction told you that you would make a liar out of yourself by the end of the night, and there was something comforting about knowing that maybe the universe was about to start making decisions on your behalf. Concessions came around shortly before the movie began, and you bought a large popcorn and two sodas. You let the bucket rest between the two of you and were careful to not put your hand anywhere near it when hers was there — as if one touch was all it would take. The simple brushing of a few fingers, and she would begin calling you that ugly “F” word.

“Does Steve do this to you often?” You asked when there was hardly any light left in the sky. Just a few more minutes, and you wouldn’t feel the need to make small talk. You could enjoy the movie in peace and go back to admiring Robin from afar tomorrow, just like you preferred doing.

“Set you up on playdates, I mean.” You continued when she scrunched up her eyebrows in an adorable manner. 

“Oh, uh…” She said while glancing down at her hands, and you were afraid then that you might’ve offended her. “He just wants me to make more girlfriends — FRIENDS! Friends, I mean!”

She stuttered, and her baby blues became wide. But she snapped them up to you, and as more words came tumbling out of her mouth, you were just thankful that she was actually looking at you again.

“Friends. I don’t really have any besides Steve and Eddie, but no, they don’t do this often.”

Now you were the one furrowing your brow, along with the cock of your head. You turned sideways in your seat to face her.

“You don’t think we’re friends?” You asked.

Robin shrugged. “Are we? This is the first time we’ve hung out since we were in grade school.”

“I come to see you every day at work.” You slipped.

And with those words slipped your heart.

Little did you know, Robin’s heart slipped, too. Right out of her chest. She would’ve bet money that had she looked down, that still beating organ would’ve been a bloody mess at her feet and she would’ve had to apologize for dirtying up your floorboards. 

“You’re visiting me?” She asked quietly, mouth slightly ajar.

“Not Steve?” is what she wanted to follow with, as she was more than used to seeing Steve upsell like a pro daily with the ladies at Family Video — even if they did know that he was dating Eddie.

Even with the truth laid out before her on a silver platter, Robin still refused to believe it. 

And by the grace of God, before you were forced to answer with a gut wrenching, moment defining confession, the big screen lit up and A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master began its opening credits. 

You turned forward in your seat, and Robin continued to rasp her fingernail against the side of that sweating Coca-Cola cup as the movie played on. Anxiety riddled thoughts played out in her head in rapid fire succession, so quickly that each jump scare didn’t cause hardly a flinch as she stared forward.

You’d been visiting her. In your cut off shorts and tank tops that’s been sliced down the sides. Every day, for months. Had those movies gone unwatched, or had you actually taken all of her recommendations to heart and played them over and over again in the darkness of your living room? Had you invited another girl along to watch them with you? Maybe they hadn’t even made it out of the record store. You’d left them there overnight just as an excuse to bring them back the next morning to see her again. And you were punching yourself for talking so much. Because everything was ruined now, wasn’t it? Robin would know you were a dyke, a fag, and she’d duck into the back of the store every time you came to snag a peek at those constellation-like freckles that darkened with the summer sun.

But all thoughts, yours and Robin’s alike, came to a screeching halt when faced with that damned waterbed scene. 

A beautiful blonde, completely nude, hair splayed out around her, breasts pressed against translucent rubber. She was unrealistic. Not perfect, just unattainable, but that was what made Joey — and you — so fixated on her. 

You had to move. You could feel your limbs tensing up, as if they were about to creak like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz. You slipped your hand to the center console to grab a fistful of popcorn. Even if you weren’t hungry, you had to pretend like you weren’t sweating bullets, right? Had to pretend that you didn’t feel like some undercover agent that was being talked about in the third person. But why did the girl on the screen have to be so pretty? You couldn’t help but to stare, and the warm butter mixed with the stickiness of summer air forced a whole new sensation to befall you. The sensation of everything closing in, of it all coming to a head, to an end. And then, there was skin. 

Robin’s fingers met yours at the center of the popcorn bucket, and she was sure that her heart stopped. It might have minutes ago when that girl had popped up on the screen, but it was nonexistent now. 

And you didn’t move your hand away when it met hers, despite it feeling much like a jolt of electricity racing through your entire body. That momentary effervescence, it was enough to get you through the stress of living in a world that didn’t understand.

But it wasn’t long lasting, as a chili dog thrown with the force of a football hit your back windshield full speed. You ripped your hand away from Robin’s, nearly knocking the bucket of popcorn all over her in the process. 

“Fuck!” You mumbled to yourself. From the driver’s side mirror, you saw Jason and Andy approaching your window. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

It was Andy who tapped against the glass with knuckles calloused from years of playing sports, and you bit the inside of your cheek while rolling the window down. 

“First date?” Jason grinned from outside of your car. 

“Go fuck yourself, Carver.” You spat with immediate regret. 

But then Robin’s elbow seemed to bump yours near the center console, and whether it was on accident or purpose you couldn’t be sure, but that skin to skin contact allowed you to ground yourself a bit this time around. 

“Just trying to enjoy our movie.” You continued, and never once did you dare meet eyes with either of them. 

Because last time you had, well, they’d seen too much.

You and some redhead tangled up in each other beneath a streetlight in a sparse parking lot. You’d thought you were the last ones out of The Hideout that night, but you’d been wrong, and they’d witnessed it all. Every bit of your mouth on hers, her hands around your waist, and the way you’d ushered her quickly into your car once you caught a glimpse of your audience. 

“Right.” Andy drawled, and you saw him lean past you to look at Robin in the passenger seat. “Know what else she enjoys?”

“Andy,” You bargained with a nervous smile covered by your fingers, eyes closed gently so you wouldn’t have to witness the explosion of what could have been. 

But Robin was already anticipating his next words, and her heart hurt for you.

“She’s butch.” He said loudly, “A fuckin’ dyke, y’know? Right here in Hawkins.”

There it was, the final nail in your coffin. You could feel the pity shedding off of Robin from the seat over, and perhaps that was the worst part of all. 

“Come on.” She whispered. The blood and gore playing out before you was nothing compared to how absolutely gutted you felt inside, and Robin could certainly sense that. “Let’s just go home.”

“Home?” Jason teased. 

From what little you could see through your back window, you noticed a third figure blocking your exit.

“So you lesbos can scissor it up in private? That’s what you came here for.” He continued, and your hand slowly made their way toward the keys that sat in the uncranked ignition. “Go on, give us a show. Just like you did at the bar.”

With the roar of your engine, Patrick McKinney scarcely missed getting snagged in the ass with the edge of your bumper. You peeled out of there, dodging roughhousing teenagers and kids that were just heading back to their parents with fresh buckets of popcorn just alike. You could hear your heart thumping like a drum in your ears, could feel the tears prickling the corners of your eyes — but you wouldn’t cry. Not yet. 

It wasn’t until you pulled up in front of your apartment and let your knuckles soften around the steering wheel that you realized what you’d done.

“I didn’t — I didn’t mean to bring you back here.” You sighed while shaking away the thoughts in your head like an Etch-A-Sketch. “Like, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to—”

“I don’t think anything.” Robin interrupted. 

She hadn’t put her feet up on the dashboard during the drive back. Hell, she hadn’t even put her seatbelt on — which was uncharacteristic of a hypochondriac. Instead, she’d sat there holding her hands in her lap, disbelieving of what she’d just found out to be true.

She wasn’t alone. In this small, backwoods town — there was someone like her. 

You washed your hand over your face and contemplated where to go from there, and after a moment, you knew what you wanted to do.

“They weren’t lying, you know.” You laughed, and then looked at her for the first time in what felt like ages.

And the look you saw on Robin’s face, surprisingly, was not that of disgust. But one of hope. A light sheen covered her waterline, as if she’d just been granted her dying wish — kinship.

“I kiss girls.” You said while running your hand through your hair. “Like, a lot. Almost exclusively, actually. I just don’t want you to think that I was trying to bring you home, or that I was trying to pull anything weir—”

But everything past that first sentence was lost on Robin’s ears. The next thing she knew, her mouth was moving without permission from her brain.

“No, I kiss girls, too!” She blurted out, and then squeezed her eyes together with embarrassment. 

You smiled, and she spoke quickly to save herself.

“I mean, in theory.” She corrected, “I would love to kiss a girl! I haven’t actually kissed a girl. I mean, it isn’t like there are tons of options in Hawkins. But if I had the chance — I mean, if the right girl came along—”

“Robin,” you interrupted, and her chest deflated with relief. 

You reached forward to place a gentle hand on her cheek, and it almost seemed right that all of this was happening under the cover of the night. Like it was made easier for her because of it. You could feel the heat in her cheeks, and she could feel the pulse thumping away in your thumb as you brushed her temple. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” You asked.

And with a sigh, as if she’d been waiting for you to ask since you’d first set foot in Family Video some months ago, she replied.

“Please.”

So you did. You leaned across your center console, and her lips were just as plush and pillow soft against yours as they looked. It was everything that you’d anticipated, everything that those second rowers back at the drive-in were chasing after. Robin tasted like a cotton candy summertime sunset that would soon fade into a cashmere sweater, and there was no better way to explain that other than the cusp of summer and fall was your favorite. She was your favorite. 

When you pulled away, you could see by the way her eyes remained closed that perhaps you were her favorite, too.

[lanalosty0uu]

FRI(END)S

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: lgbtq+, wlw content

summary: but friends don’t say words that make friends feel more—so let’s put the end in friends, just for now?

general master list

inspired by the song:

══════════════════════

The bell above the door jingled, and Steve turned toward it, his face lighting up when he saw you walk into Family Video. “Well, look who finally decided to visit,” he said, arms wide like he was welcoming royalty. “About time you showed up.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him toward the counter, already used to his dramatics. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get too excited, Harrington. I’m just here to see if this place is as lame as you described.”

“It’s not lame!” Steve protested, his voice jumping an octave, and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

“Oh, really? Because you spent a good ten minutes complaining about how this job is ‘crushing your soul.’” You made exaggerated air quotes, and Steve’s face twisted in a mix of offense and embarrassment.

“Okay, well—” he started, but you were already tuning him out, your eyes scanning the shelves stacked with VHS tapes and the faded movie posters plastered on the walls. Despite what Steve said, the place had its charm — a little cluttered, a little outdated, but cozy. It smelled like popcorn and plastic, and you kind of liked it.

“Welcome to our humble establishment,” a new voice cut in, smooth and sarcastic. You turned, and your gaze landed on the girl leaning against the counter, arms crossed and a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She had short, choppy blonde-brown hair, big expressive eyes, and a sharpness in her grin that told you she was about to say something Steve wouldn’t appreciate. “Don’t let Steve fool you — I’m the one keeping this place running.”

“Excuse you—” Steve sputtered behind you, his face already going red.

But the girl just held up a hand, silencing him without even looking his way. Her eyes stayed on you, curious and playful. “And you are…?” she prompted, one eyebrow arched.

You smiled despite yourself. “Y/N. I work at the record shop down the street.”

At that, her face lit up with recognition. “Ah,” she said, nodding thoughtfully. “The cool place.”

“Exactly,” you teased, and she grinned wider.

“I’m Robin,” she said, and there was something dramatic in the way she extended her hand toward you — like this was some kind of formal meeting. You played along, taking her hand and shaking it with mock seriousness.

“Pleasure to meet the true backbone of Family Video,” you said, shooting a pointed look at Steve.

Robin snorted. “Finally! Someone gets it.”

“I am standing right here,” Steve said, throwing his arms up.

“Congratulations,” you and Robin said in unison, and you both cracked up while Steve muttered something under his breath.

“I like you already,” Robin said, still grinning. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

And you had no idea just how right she was.

══════════════════════

After that first meeting, Family Video became part of your routine — not that you’d admit it out loud. At first, you told yourself you were just stopping by for Steve. You’d known him for years, after all, and as much as you loved to roast him, you did have a soft spot for the guy. Besides, the record shop where you worked was just down the street, and Family Video made for an easy detour when you were on break.

But it didn’t take long before you realized that Steve wasn’t the only reason you kept coming back.

It was Robin.

Robin Buckley was a whirlwind — sharp and quick-witted, with a humor that matched yours so perfectly it felt almost suspicious. She had this way of making even the slowest, most boring days entertaining, and when the two of you got going, it was game over for Steve.

One afternoon, you were leaning against the counter, idly flipping through one of the new release boxes while Robin reorganized the shelves. Steve was across the store, attempting to charm a customer with what you’d come to recognize as his “ladykiller” smile. Robin nudged you with her elbow, drawing your attention.

“Okay, watch this,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s gonna do the hair flip. Just wait for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “The hair flip?”

“Oh, you’ll know it when you see it,” Robin assured you.

And sure enough, just as the customer giggled at something Steve said, he did it — the dramatic, slow-motion toss of his perfectly styled hair, like he was starring in his own personal shampoo commercial.

Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as you struggled not to burst out laughing. “Oh my god,” you whispered, leaning closer to Robin. “Does he… does he practice that in the mirror?”

“Definitely,” Robin said, nodding sagely. “I’ve caught him.”

That did it — you lost it, dissolving into laughter so hard you had to clutch the counter to stay upright. Robin was right there with you, giggling into her sleeve as you both tried — and failed — to keep it together.

“I can hear you,” Steve called over his shoulder, his voice half-exasperated, half-pouting.

“We know!” you called back, still giggling.

Steve shot you both a glare before turning back to his customer, but even from across the room, you could see the faint flush creeping up his neck.

Robin wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, her laughter finally dying down. “You know, I think you might be my new favorite person.”

Your heart skipped — just a little — at that. But you kept your cool, shooting her a playful grin. “Well, I do aim to impress.”

“Oh, you’re killing it,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against yours. “A-plus performance.”

And the thing was — you believed her.

Because when Robin looked at you like that, her eyes bright and her smile easy, you felt like maybe you really were something special.

══════════════════════

It wasn’t long before the teasing turned into something else — something that felt a little more dangerous.

At first, it was all harmless fun. You and Robin had fallen into an easy rhythm — hanging out at Family Video whenever you had a break from the record shop, ganging up on Steve at every opportunity, and finding more and more excuses to linger when the store was quiet. You’d trade inside jokes and side-eye glances and laugh way too loud at things Steve insisted weren’t even that funny.

But then there were moments like this one — moments where the laughter slowed down and the space between you felt… different. Charged.

It was a slow evening at Family Video, and you and Robin were sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the counter, helping restock shelves because Steve had declared it “too boring” and vanished into the back room. A half-empty box of VHS tapes sat between you, but neither of you seemed particularly focused on the task.

“Okay,” Robin said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “Serious question.”

You glanced up from the tape in your hands, intrigued. “Hit me.”

“If you had to pick,” she began, leaning forward with an exaggerated air of importance, “which movie character would you run away with? And I mean full-on, drop-everything, Bonnie and Clyde-style elopement.”

You grinned, pretending to think. “Hmm. Probably Ferris Bueller.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Absolutely. He’s got style, he’s smart, and the guy knows how to have a good time.” You shrugged. “Plus, I’d never be bored.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully, as if she were seriously considering this. “Solid choice. I respect it.”

“Okay, your turn,” you said, shifting so you were facing her more directly. “Who’s your runaway partner?”

“Oh, easy,” Robin said without hesitation. “Lena Lamont from Singin' in the Rain.”

You blinked. “Wait. The one with the really annoying voice?”

“Exactly.” Robin’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

You stared at her in confusion. “But… why?”

Robin grinned, wide and unapologetic. “I like a challenge.”

That was it — you lost it. You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the mostly empty store. Robin watched you with that same satisfied smirk, clearly pleased with herself.

“You’re insane,” you managed between giggles, wiping at your eyes.

“You love it,” she teased, bumping her shoulder against yours.

And maybe you did.

The laughter faded, but your shoulder stayed pressed against hers. Neither of you moved away, and for a second, the quiet that settled around you wasn’t awkward — it was warm. Close.

Robin’s gaze flicked toward you, her smile softer now. “Okay, but seriously,” she said, her voice quieter than before. “You’d make a pretty good Bonnie, you know. I could totally see you robbing banks and causing chaos.”

You tilted your head, playing along even though your heart was suddenly pounding a little too fast. “Yeah? And who’d be my Clyde?”

Robin hesitated just long enough for your breath to catch. Then she grinned. “Steve, obviously.”

You groaned. “You just ruined the fantasy.”

“Hey, you asked,” she teased, but her eyes stayed on you, and there was something there — something you couldn’t quite name but didn’t want to look away from.

And when her hand brushed against yours as you reached for the same tape, neither of you pulled back.

══════════════════════

Robin knew she was in trouble the night you showed up at Family Video after a bad day.

The bell above the door jingled, and Robin looked up from the counter. The second she saw your face — the slump of your shoulders, the tired drag of your feet — she knew something was wrong. You didn’t even bother with a greeting, just made a beeline for the chair behind the counter and dropped into it with a dramatic groan.

“Rough shift?” Robin asked, her voice soft but playful as she watched you melt into the seat.

“You have no idea,” you said, dragging your hands down your face. “Some guy spent thirty minutes... thirty minutes, Robin! Arguing with me about why The Smiths are superior to The Cure, and I think I actually felt my soul leave my body.”

Robin snorted, biting back a laugh. “You want me to fight him? I’ll fight him.”

“Tempting,” you said, shooting her a weak smile. “But I think I just need some bad movies and good company.”

Robin’s heart did an actual somersault in her chest, and she prayed you couldn’t hear it over the hum of the lights. “Well, you’re in luck,” she said, gesturing grandly around the store. “We specialize in both.”

That’s when you smiled at her — really smiled — and Robin was done for.

It wasn’t just the smile itself, though that was enough to make her knees weak. It was the way your eyes softened when they met hers, the way your face lit up like she was the one good thing in your day. It was that dangerous, reckless feeling she got every time you looked at her like that — the one that made her want to reach out, close the space between you, do something about the way she felt.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Because what if she was wrong?

What if this was all just a game to you — the teasing, the flirting, the way you always found reasons to touch her hand or lean in close? What if it didn’t mean what she wanted it to mean?

So Robin swallowed it down, the way she always did, and smiled back. Even as her heart ached.

The line between friendship and something more kept getting blurrier, and Robin didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she wasn’t falling for you.

It was late one night when it almost broke her. The store was empty, and the two of you were camped out in the horror section, reorganizing shelves because Steve had messed them up in his rush to leave early. Again.

“I swear to God, if I see one more copy of ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’ in the wrong spot…” Robin grumbled, shoving a tape into its rightful place.

“Justice for Freddy,” you said solemnly, handing her another tape.

Robin snorted. “You’re the only person I know who would call Freddy Krueger misunderstood.”

“He had dreams, Robin. Big ones.”

You grinned at her, and Robin felt the air shift — the way it always did when you smiled at her like that. It made her dizzy, the way you could turn her entire world upside down without even realizing it.

But then the smile faded, and you let out a quiet sigh, your fingers trailing over the spine of a tape without really looking at it.

“You ever feel like some things are just… stuck in the ‘almost’ category?” you asked, your voice soft, like you weren’t sure you wanted her to hear.

Robin froze. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest. “What do you mean?” she asked, keeping her voice as casual as she could — even though her throat had gone dry.

You shrugged, still not meeting her eyes. “Like… when you almost say something but don’t. Or when something almost happens, but it never does.”

Robin felt like the air had been knocked out of her.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I get that.”

You finally looked at her then, and the way your eyes softened made Robin’s pulse race. It felt like you were asking her something without saying a word — something Robin was so scared to answer, because what if she answered wrong?

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” you said, your voice gentle but heavy.

Robin’s chest ached.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “It really does.”

══════════════════════

After that night, things between you and Robin changed

Or maybe they didn’t, and Robin was just way more aware of it than before.

The next time you showed up at Family Video, it was the same as always, you sauntered in like you owned the place, grinning when you spotted Robin behind the counter. “Guess who brought snacks,” you sing-songed, holding up a bag of chips and a couple of sodas.

Robin’s heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. She glanced around the empty store, trying to play it cool. “Well, well,” she said, smirking. “We don’t deserve you.”

“Definitely not,” you teased, hopping up onto the counter like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”

“Hey!” Steve’s voice cut in from the back room. “No sitting on the counter! We’re running a respectable business here!”

You cupped your hands around your mouth. “Snitches get stitches, Harrington!”

Robin burst out laughing as Steve muttered something unintelligible from the back, and the sound of your laughter mixed with hers was enough to make her feel lightheaded. It was so easy with you... even when it made her heart ache.

But that ache hadn’t gone away since that night in the horror section, since you’d looked at her like you were waiting for something. Since you’d talked about things being stuck in the “almost” category and made Robin wonder, for the first time, if maybe… maybe you weren’t just playing around.

Still, she couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk losing you.

So she swallowed it down, like always.

“You gonna share those snacks or just make me suffer?” Robin asked, leaning her hip against the counter.

“You have to earn them,” you said with a mock-serious look. “What’s your stance on the great Smiths vs. The Cure debate?”

“Oh, easy,” Robin said. “The Cure, obviously.”

Your face lit up. “Knew I liked you for a reason.”

Robin felt the words hit her square in the chest. And god, if you kept looking at her like that, she wasn’t going to survive this.

It wasn’t just the flirting — though the flirting was getting harder to brush off. It was the way you remembered little things about her, like how she liked her coffee and which records she’d been meaning to buy from your shop. It was the way your hand always found her wrist when you laughed too hard, like you needed to steady yourself.

And it was the way you looked at her sometimes — like you were waiting for her to do something.

But Robin was too scared to find out if she was imagining it.

So when you showed up at Family Video one night, an hour before closing, with a mischievous glint in your eye, Robin didn’t think too much of it.

“Okay, Buckley,” you said, hopping onto the counter like always. “We’re playing a game.”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “A game?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘p’ and grinned. “It’s called Truth or Dare.”

Robin’s heart started racing immediately. “That sounds dangerous.”

“Only if you’re a coward,” you teased. “So. Truth or dare?”

Robin narrowed her eyes at you. “Truth.”

You tapped your chin, pretending to think. “Okay. If you could kiss anyone in Hawkins, who would it be?”

Robin’s brain short-circuited.

She tried to play it off with a snort. “What are we, twelve?”

“You picked truth, Buckley. Answer the question.”

Her mouth went dry. “Uh…”

“C’mon,” you said, eyes twinkling. “No one?”

Robin’s mind supplied only one name — yours — and she was so close to saying it. But then the fear crept in again, and she chickened out.

“I don’t know,” she said, waving a hand. “No one really comes to mind.”

For just a second, your face fell. It was quick — so quick that Robin almost convinced herself she’d imagined it — but it was there. And god, did it hurt.

“Lame,” you teased, but your voice wasn’t as light as before. “Fine. Your turn.”

“Truth or dare?” Robin asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Dare,” you said without hesitation.

Robin forced a smirk. “I dare you to put all the horror movies back in alphabetical order. Steve messed them up again.”

You groaned. “You’re the worst.”

But Robin was already watching you walk away, and the ache in her chest felt heavier than ever.

It all came to a head one night when you showed up at Family Video after your shift at the record store, looking more exhausted than Robin had ever seen you.

“Bad day?” she asked softly, and you nodded, dropping into the chair behind the counter without a word.

For a while, there was just silence. Robin didn’t push — she knew you’d talk when you were ready.

“I just…” you finally said, your voice quiet. “I hate feeling like this. Stuck, you know?”

Robin’s heart did that awful, hopeful lurch again. “Stuck how?”

You shrugged, not looking at her. “Like… like I’m waiting for something that’s never gonna happen. Or like… maybe I’m just too scared to do something about it.”

Robin swallowed hard. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I get that.”

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The air between you was thick, heavy with things unsaid. Robin’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure you could hear it.

And then you looked at her, and whatever you were feeling, it was written all over your face.

“Robin,” you said softly, your voice almost breaking.

And just like that, Robin couldn’t take it anymore.

“Tell me,” she whispered. “Tell me what you’re waiting for.”

But you didn’t. Not yet.

You just looked at her, and for the first time, Robin thought:

maybe you were just as scared as she was.

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

The Only Tally Mark

Ship: Steve Harrington x reader

Summary: The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

Word Count: 7,250 words

Warnings: Robin's a bit mean, she also has no filter, pining, Steve's failed flirting attempts, blatant staring/pining, implied confession, first kiss

Note: Set pre-s4 and the day Dustin comes back, before the Russian code is cracked.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

July had only just begun in Hawkins, and you could already tell it was going to be a hot one. Less than twenty-four hours in, temperatures had already hit record-breaking highs—at least, that was according to the weatherman on the television you were sat in front of, sweating and feeling relief from the heat only when the fan beside you swiveled back toward you.

“Every July is this hot,” your father said from the kitchen, where he was drinking his second glass of water in five minutes.

“Oh, sure, but never this early,” your mother retorted. “It’s only the first, and already we’re melting out of the house.”

Sensing an irritable argument birthed from the nearly unbearable heat, you left the living room and headed up the stairs to your bedroom. You picked up the phone you’d begged your parents to let you have years ago, dialing the number of your best friend of four years: Robin Buckley, the band dweeb to your theatre kid.

It was her mom who answered the phone, several dial tones later. “Hello?”

“Hi, Mrs. Buckley—is Robin home?”

“Oh, hi, sweetie! She’s at work right now, her shift ends at seven.”

You stopped yourself from swearing. “Oh, right, I forgot. Thank you!”

“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Buckley said before hanging up.

You leaned against the wall. How could you have forgotten? Robin had been telling you about her new job in the mall—and the sailor’s uniform she had to wear. You’d seen her get ready for work once and had burst into giggles the moment she put the hat on her head.

You glanced at the digital clock next to your bed, checking the time. There was still several hours before the mall closed. You might as well visit Robin and abuse your friendship to get some free ice cream at the same time, right?

So you grabbed your wallet and shoved it in your pocket and bounded down the stairs.

"Hey, I'm going out!" you shouted to your parents.

"Where do you think you're going, young lady?" your father asked, appearing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen.

"To the mall? Robin works there and I'm going to visit."

"Don't spend too much, dear!" your mother called.

"Sure, Mom!"

You hopped in your car and headed for the mall, following the thick cluster of traffic that always lined the streets leading to the mall, passing through the streets lined with empty, hollow shops.

~❊~

The mall was crowded, as busy as it had always been since the day it opened. You pushed your way through the crowds gathered around storefronts and display windows, trying to remember which floor Scoops Ahoy was on.

You took the escalator down to the first floor and scanned the shops surrounding you. When you spotted the sign for the ice cream store, you headed toward it, maneuvering past a group of pre-teens cackling about manipulating the store's workers into giving them free samples.

There was no one at the counter when you walked in. A majority of the tables were occupied by groups of teens. As you approached the register, you could hear faint bickering from behind the pebbled glass windows, Robin's distinct voice floating out to you.

"...do the job you're supposed to do, I've been scooping so much ice cream my hand's cramped," she was saying.

You stifled a giggle and tapped your hand lightly against the bell in front of you, wincing when it was a little louder than you had been expecting.

The swing door on the left opened with a bang, revealing the back of a boy who was gesturing at Robin, who was quite literally pushing him out the door. She disappeared before you could catch her attention, and the other attendant took up his place in front of the register.

"Ahoy, sailor! Would you like to set sail on this ocean of flavor with me? I'll be your captain, I'm Steve Harrington."

You blinked at him. "Is that company policy like the hat and the outfit?"

He stared at you. "I'm sorry, what?"

You shrugged. "I'm a friend of Robin's, she complains about the, and I quote, stupid company rules that make everyone look stupid."

He stared at you. You stared at him. Awkward silence settled between the two of you.

The introduction hadn't been necessary. You had spent most of your high school experience listening to Robin complain about Steve Harrington and his stupid perfect hair and his stupid easy charm and his stupid actual stupidity. The Steve she'd painted matched up perfectly with the kid you'd seen around in the halls, dressed in his ironed polo shirts and pleated khakis or that stupid basketball uniform and letterman jacket—and Nancy Wheeler on his arm.

You and Robin had watched his life crash and burn with malicious glee—and all the while you had tried to ignore that this was the very same boy you'd crushed on in middle school, and had been so shocked to find out had changed so much when you got to the high school, a year after he did.

Steve cleared his throat, his gaze dropping to the register, firmly away from you. "Um. What can I get you?"

"Uh..." Every ice cream flavor you had ever liked instantly disappeared from your head. It wasn't like the usual mind-blankness that came from being asked a question about your favorite anything. It was like your entire body had stopped, freezing in the pretty face of Steve Harrington, ridiculous as the uniform was. Especially with the hat, which Robin hadn't told you about.

The door swung open again. "Jesus, Steve, what's taking you so damn long?" Robin froze where she stood. A smile lit up her face. "What are you doing here?!"

You grinned. "Visiting!"

Robin hip-checked Steve out of the way. Steve glared at her while she grabbed the ice cream scoop from the pocket at his side.

"Jesus, do you have to be so brutal?" he snapped.

Clearly fighting the urge to roll her eyes, Robin turned back to Steve. "I'm sorry, would you please get out of the way so I can serve my best friend? Thanks," she said, her customer service smile plastered to her face.

Muttering under his breath, Steve pushed away from the counter, leaning on the sill of the window behind him. He crossed his arms, still staring resolutely at the floor.

Robin grinned at you. "I wasn't expecting you to—"

"Be here?" you finished. "I called your house before I realized you were working, so I thought I might as well come visit."

"Glad you did," she said. "You would not believe how much of a headache it is working with dingus over there."

You glanced over her shoulder at Steve, his pink lips forming a pissy pout. Oh, yeah. Still pretty, still a bitch.

"You didn't tell me you worked with him," you said under your breath.

Robin shrugged, shooting you a knowing smile. "Yeah, well, I knew you'd show up and find out for yourself eventually." Her eyes slid to the corners, as if she could see Steve sulking behind her. "We'll talk about him later. What ice cream do you want? On us."

You giggled. "How did I know you'd say that?"

She snorted. "Oh, so you're abusing our friendship for free ice cream?"

"Maybe," you said. "Just this once."

Robin rolled her eyes and grabbed an ice cream cone. "Here—I'll grab your favorite."

And, without you needing to remind her, she lowered the scoop into the tub of ice cream that you got every time the two of you had gotten ice cream after going to see a movie, back before the mall. You wondered how you could have forgotten, until you looked over Robin's shoulder again and found Steve looking up, lips parted and eyes fixed on you. The minute you caught his gaze, he blushed and looked away.

You took advantage of his embarrassment, admiring the pink in his cheeks and how he awkwardly licked his lips. He toyed with the watch on his wrist, crossed and uncrossed his legs. Was he nervous? An even better question—had you ever seen Steve Harrington nervous before?

While you studied Steve, Robin made a second cone of ice cream, a different flavor than yours.

Robin looked behind her. "Hey—man the counter, will you? I'm going on break."

Steve spluttered. "You just came back from break!"

"No, we just finished our lunch break. I still have my federally-required thirty minutes to take. So I'm gonna take 'em." She shoved the scoop at Steve's chest and stepped out from behind the counter.

The pair of you took an unoccupied table near the counter, in case she was needed.

"Should you be leaving him to do it by himself?" you asked, glancing back at Steve one last time.

"What, are you worried about him? He'll be fine," Robin said. She shrugged with a sigh. "He's...he's not as bad as we thought he was in high school. He's less of a douche now, at least."

"Just a dingus?" you asked with a smile.

She nodded. "He's still as stupid as we always thought."

You turned your attention away from Steve at toward your ice cream. "Why didn't you tell me he worked with you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's not have that conversation while he's here, okay? For your dignity's sake. I know he's far away, but he's got impressive hearing." She shrugged. "Blame it on four years of listening for gossip, I guess."

Your gaze shifted back to Steve as he raked a hand through his hair, stretching enough for his shirt to lift. Heat rushed to your cheeks and you crossed your legs. Now that he wasn't surrounded by assholes who mocked you and Robin and your friends for their own personal entertainment, it was easier to appreciate how he'd grown into himself since middle school. Taking care of himself had made him a whole new level of handsome.

Robin giggled. "Yeah—that's why we're not gonna talk about this while he's around. You still have a thing for him, don't you?"

Steve relaxed against the countertop, fixing his hair and putting the hat back on with a scowl. You cleared your throat.

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that."

"Me? Forget about you having the most embarrassing crush on him for years? Only to get to high school and find out he'd become a dick? Never."

You groaned. "Oh, stop rubbing it in!"

A gaggle of girls walked into the store, four of them giggling and talking and rolling their eyes. Immediately, Steve stood up a little straighter and fiddled with his uniform.

Robin snorted. "Oh, watch this. He's been failing catastrophically with every girl that walks in. I keep count."

"You keep count?"

She nodded gleeful, pointing with her chin in the direction of the counter.

"Ahoy, ladies!" Steve said, leaning on the counter. His attempt to be attractive failed dismally, however, when his hand slipped off the side and he lost both his balance and his composure for a moment.

One of the girls giggled with her friend. Steve's cheeks darkened.

"I'm Steve Harrington, I'll be your captain on this ocean of flavor. What can I get you lovely ladies today?"

You glanced at Robin. "I don't see what he's doing wrong."

"That's because this is scripted," Robin whispered back.

The first girl stepped forward. "One scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla, please."

Steve tried a debonaire smile. "Oooh, classic, I like it. I'm all for vanilla myself, you know, all the time."

You winced. "Was...was that supposed to be a double entendre?"

"Yep," Robin said, popping the p with a smirk.

"I see what you mean now," you said. The girl was making a face that said she caught Steve's drift and found it rude. Steve cleared his throat and moved on, scooping ice cream into a cone and handing it to her with a mortified whisper of "here you go." His gaze flicked over to you and Robin, at which point his mortification seemed to grow.

You watched the exchange grow steadily worse. Steve stumbled over his words and tripped over his feet and dropped an empty cone twice. Customers who had already gotten ice cream became onlookers who left, one by one, as the secondhand embarrassment grew.

"God, he's hopeless," you whispered. "Whatever happened to the Steve in high school?"

"You mean the one with a new girl on his arm every week? I'd say that stopping can be blamed on one Nancy Wheeler," Robin said.

You rolled your eyes. "While they were dating, obviously. But now? One relationship shouldn't make him incapable of flirting with a girl."

Robin watched the girls leave, snickering behind their hands. A moment later, Steve groaned, wiping a hand over his face. "You know what I think his problem is?"

"What?"

"He's trying to flirt all of them into submission, not just one girl he likes out of the group."

You nodded slowly. "Sounds about right. I mean...if he flirted with me one minute and then you the next, I don't think I'd want to jump his bones, exactly."

Robin rolled her eyes. "What are you talking about? You've always wanted to jump his bones."

"That was middle school, and that was before any of us gave a shit about sex."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Robin teased. "I saw how you looked at him during gym class."

You shrugged, trying to hide your face behind your hair. Robin knew your expressions better than anyone; your embarrassment was going to be obvious the minute she caught sight of you. "It's gym class! Guys don't wear shirts ninety percent of the time, they practically invite girls to stare." Your gaze slid back to Steve, who was once again staring at the floor. His cheeks were still red, and that pretty mouth of his had once again formed a pout. "Jesus, I don't think I've ever seen him so...despondent."

"He's like that at least five times a shift," Robin said. She played with a small red plastic spoon she had pulled from her pocket. "You know... You could come work here with us. Then you'd get to see Steve every day."

"Robin, you're constantly complaining about how much you hate working your, and I quote, pitiful minimum wage job."

"Yeah, but you like Steve, and eye candy makes the day go by faster."

You swatted her arm discreetly. "Don't objectify him!"

She rolled her eyes. "Hey, Steve!"

Steve looked up so quickly you swore you heard his neck crack, even with some distance between your table and the counter. "What?"

"Come convince her to work with us!"

You glared at her. "Robin, I already have a summer job!" you protested, trying to stop your heart from racing as Steve approached the two of you. You looked anywhere but him, knowing a soft smile and a well-timed flutter of his eyelashes was all it would take for Steve to convince you to do anything he asked.

Steve pulled a chair from the other table for two next to you, spinning it unnecessarily in his hand and dragging it to the edge of your table. He straddled it, leaning his arms against the backrest. Your heart climbed into your throat.

Steve's eyes met yours and every thought melted from your brain. Brown had never been such a pretty color. Although his eyes weren't just brown, they were hazel, mottled with soft greens and blues and greys. You'd never seen such beautiful eyes before, so expressive and kind and interested and attentive and—

"Tell her why she should come work with us," Robin said, breaking your focus on Steve's eyes.

You rolled your eyes. "Robin, I already have a job," you repeated. "A job I like that pays well that I can work at year-round."

Steve snorted, shaking his head absentmindedly. "Then don't come here, that's for sure. The pay is shit, the job is just as bad, and nobody likes ice cream in the winter."

Robin glared at him. "What part of convincing her do you not understand?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring her. "But, then again, you'd get to work with Robin and you might alleviate my boredom from dealing with her all the time." He jerked his head toward Robin. "You wouldn't believe how mean to me she is."

You stifled a giggle as Robin huffed. An easy grin reminiscent of the king he once as slid across Steve's face. You felt slightly giddy, knowing you had been the one to put it there.

More people walked into the store and Robin shot to her feet. "Come on, dingus. We have a job to do." She dragged him to his feet, ignoring his hiss of complaint. He shot you an apologetic shrug as she pulled him behind the register again.

While the two of them got back to work, you sat back in your booth table and finished your ice cream. Once you were done, you discreetly snuck out of the store, leaving a note for Robin at the counter promising to call her after her shift.

As you wrote the note and taped it to the register, you failed to notice Steve pause where he was scooping ice cream to watch you, or that his gaze stayed on you until you left the store and Robin had to snap him out of his reverie.

~❊~

Though it seemed utterly impossible, the next day was even hotter than the last. You lasted all of two hours at the community pool before you got tired of the screaming children and moms flirting with Billy Hargrove and you went home.

You changed out of your bathing suit, dressing more consciously than you had since the eighth grade semi-formal. You selected your jewelry carefully before hopping in your car and heading to the mall for a second time that week.

Scoops Ahoy was significantly less busy when you walked in. Robin looked half-asleep where she stood at the counter, but she brightened when you walked in.

"You just couldn't stay away, could you?" she asked, leaning on the counter with a grin.

You shrugged. "It's hot, ice cream is a solution."

She studied you for a moment. "The pool didn't solve that?"

You scoffed. "Hell no. It's full of tiny children and middle-aged moms and girls who only go so they can take up space and stare at Billy."

"And there's no Steve there, is there?" Robin teased.

You rolled your eyes. "No," you admitted. "Or you."

Robin scooped your ice cream and passed it to you over the countertop. "He'll be back soon, his break ends in a minute. He went to go grab us food."

"He what?"

Robin shrugged. "Yeah, he does that a lot. I hate to say it, but he's actually a nice guy. I think we might have been wrong about him."

You grinned. "So I was right back in middle school! I told you."

Robin rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you did." She cleared her throat. "Behind you."

You heard Steve's footsteps approaching a split second before he said, "Hey, you're back! Applying?"

Turning to face him, you snorted. "Absolutely not. I'm here for ice cream and ice cream alone."

Steve frowned. "What are we, chopped liver?" he asked, gesturing between himself and Robin.

"I'm surprised you know that phrase," Robin said.

Steve made a face. "I do know some things, Robin." He turned back to you. "I told you she's mean to me."

You laughed. "She's mean to everyone sometimes, it's nothing personal."

"Yes it is, dingus," Robin said, and you remembered she had plenty of reasons aside from Steve's years mocking her and her friends to be angry with him.

You just shrugged at him when Steve looked at you for guidance. He copied your shrug and passed Robin a plastic bag that smelled heavenly.

"If I'd known you were coming to visit, I would have gotten you something," Steve said apologetically.

"Oh, it's fine," you promised. "I've got ice cream." He smiled at you, his laughter shining through. "Honestly, I'm surprised you two don't exist off of ice cream."

"We used to," Robin said.

Steve nodded. "It got pretty tiring after a week. It's like when they told us in health class that energy from sugar doesn't last very long. Or something like that."

Robin squinted at him. "You can't remember enough of high school to get to college, but you can remember health class?"

"I remembered enough to graduate," Steve mumbled, cheeks turning pink once again. You were starting to get used to Steve's embarrassment. It was as cute as he always was.

"Stay and eat with us," Robin said, turning back to you. "I'll split my fries with you. You did remember the fries, didn't you, dingus?"

"Of course I remembered the fries," Steve snorted. He dropped the Closed for lunch! sign on the counter and held the swinging door open for you. You thanked him as you walked by, aware of his eyes following you.

You sat in the seat Robin pulled out for you and finished your ice cream before stealing some of the previously offered fries.

"I think we're closing early, Robin," Steve said, glancing out the cracked window. "We've had, what, three people all day?"

"Four if you count the Radio Shack employee across the way," Robin said. "But I don't, because they get it for free."

You frowned. "Do I not count as a customer because you give me ice cream for free?"

Steve shook his head a bit too quickly. "No, you count, Robin just doesn't like the Radio Shack employees."

"Because they're rude," she complained. "They complain about everything and change their minds three times—but always after you've already started scooping, and even when you're done, they don't like it!"

"Sounds like a regular day in customer service," you said, feigning cheerfulness.

"Yeah, a shitty day," Robin said.

"Where do you work?" Steve asked. "I don't think I've ever asked."

"The record store down on Main," you said.

"You know, the one I said I had been planning on working at," Robin said. "But Scoops hired faster."

"Maybe we should switch jobs," Steve muttered.

Robin snorted. "Yeah, like that'll go over well."

"The store won't hire more people, anyway," you cut in. "It got rid of most of the staff, especially the new people, to cut costs because of the mall."

"Is there a record store in here?" Steve asked.

"No, but there is a Sam Goody and a Camelot Music in the mall. We used to have a partnership with the Sam Goody on Main, but then it closed due to the mall, and we started losing business to the one in the mall." You sighed. "I hear about it all the time. It's all the owner ever talks about these days."

Steve munched on a fry, staring at you as you spoke. His eyes were stuck firmly on you. You tried not to squirm under his intense gaze.

Robin leaned back in her chair. "One of these days, I'm gonna visit you at work instead."

You rolled your eyes. "If you ever have a day off," you said.

"Kinda hard to have a day off when we're the only two working here," Steve said.

You nodded. "The constant problem of being short staffed."

"That would be solved if you just came and worked here," Robin muttered into her wrap. You rolled your eyes again, stealing another one of her fries.

"No, Robin."

Robin harrumphed and took a bite of her sandwich more viciously than twas strictly required.

Steve faked a pout. "You just really don't like us, do you?"

"She doesn't," Robin agreed, smirking. You knew that smirk; she was going to do her best to guilt trip you—using Steve, which was perhaps the only way to guilt you into doing what she wanted.

You rolled your eyes. "It's got nothing to do with you, I promise."

"Ouch," they said in unison.

You frowned. "What are you, the same person?"

They both shrugged.

"Alright, that's just weird," you sighed. You glanced down at your watch. "How long does your lunch break last?"

"Thirty minutes. Why?" Steve asked.

You shrugged. "Wouldn't want you to get fired because I'm here distracting you."

Steve propped his head up on his hand. Stray curls of hair fell into his face. Your heart twisted in your chest. He was beautiful. How could he be so beautiful?

Robin watched as you and Steve stared at each other. You were aware of her gaze bouncing back and forth between the two of you, observing the way you were melting under his gaze, your lips parting the longer he looked at you, the barriers you'd put up slowly crumbling. Steve was no better, staring at you with open, asking eyes. He moistened his lower lip with his tongue and it took everything in you not to whimper.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the look on Robin's face—the look of disgust that crossed her face every time she was disgusted by public affection from straight couples. Your heart did flips at the sight of her expression.

"Would you guys stop that?" she groaned, getting up from her seat.

"Doing what?" Steve asked, still looking at you. You tore your eyes away from him and back to the half-empty container of fries.

"Making eyes at each other," she said. Steve spluttered, instantly losing the lovey look in his eyes.

"Making eyes— Robin, what are you talking about?"

You cleared your throat. "Hey, um, what's the board for?" You hoped your question would steer the conversation away from the feeling bubbling in your chest at the sight of Steve.

Steve groaned, hiding his face in his hands.

"I told you I was keeping score of Steve's failing dating life. This is my scoreboard."

You nearly choked. "You keep track of it on a whiteboard at work?!" You looked at the neatly drawn board, the 'You Rule' and 'You Suck' columns divided by a line.

"Actually, I have to put the one from yesterday on here."

Steve groaned again, cheeks burning very red. He looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and stay there.

You watched her add a line. "Robin..."

"She's right, I suck," Steve sighed. "My luck's been pretty shit recently."

"You don't suck, she's just being mean," you said. You sent her a look, shaking your head slightly. She just shrugged.

"You don't have to be nice about it," he said. "I know how bad I am at this. I haven't gotten laid in months."

"Okay, too much information, Steve," you said with a little laugh.

"Oh, so this suddenly isn't a safe place to talk about all our life troubles?" he teased.

You laughed fully. He smiled, and the room seemed to light up with the glow emanating from him.

"Get a room," Robin groaned.

Steve turned around. "I'm not flirting, Robin!"

"Yeah, right," Robin smirked. "It's just working this time."

You coughed. "I, um, I have to go."

They both turned back to you, as if they'd forgotten that you were even there.

"Shit, hang on," Steve started, but Robin cut him off.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it like that—" Robin said, realizing she'd practically told Steve you liked him.

"Yeah, right, I know, I just have, uh..." You fumbled for an excuse for a minute. "I have to go drive a friend home! I'll call you later, Robs!" You rushed out the swinging door just as the bell at the counter rang.

Steve pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."

"Oh, no," Robin whispered. "Steve, ignore that, ignore all of that, I screwed up, I shouldn't have said anything, she's going to be so pissed. It's just that she's liked you since middle school and it's gotten worse now that you're not a douchebag—" Robin clapped a hand over her mouth.

"I won't tell her you said that," Steve said quietly. "Oh, Jesus, Robin..."

"I'm sorry—"

"Stop apologizing to me," Steve said. "If you hadn't said anything, I never would have realized."

Robin made a face. "See, that's why you suck, not because you're bad at flirting with girls. You've just been flirting with the wrong ones, because you're oblivious of the ones that actually like you."

Steve was quiet for a moment. "Yeah. Thanks for pointing that out." He peered out the window, watching you leave the mall, wiping at your eyes and pushing your hair out of your eyes.

Simultaneously, Steve and Robin whispered, "Shit."

At the counter, Erica Sinclair tapped the bell again. "Hello? I want some samples!"

They shouted, "Shut up!"

Steve slammed the glass doors shut.

~❊~

Steve unlocked his front door, stepped inside his house, and put his back to the closed door. He slid down the door with a heavy sigh.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. All he had been able to see since you left Scoops was your stricken face, horrified and embarrassed that Robin had spilled your biggest secret. (Which Robin had told him after, in bits and pieces, while they closed up the store.)

Steve couldn't believe it. How had he never noticed? Granted, he hadn't been the most observant for, well, the majority of his life. And his middle school years had been fairly dull, unmemorable. But wouldn't have noticed if you—you, out of everyone in Hawkins Middle—had been crushing on him?

To his utter shame, the most Steve remembered of you in middle school was how you had been a good friend to him, long before any of his high school friends knew who he was, and that he'd ditched you once he got to high school. You'd helped him study a few times, too. He wasn't sure what year it was, but he knew you'd helped him pass both English and History in the same year.

He'd shared a handful of classes with you, too, when classes had been so small they'd mixed grades. Sixth grade science, when the two of you had worked on a minor chemical project together. In seventh grade, you'd had two classes together. Gym, which had been downright brutal so early in the morning, especially when the teachers split up the teams as boys against girls. He remembered you had gotten nailed in the head with a basketball once, and that he'd been asked by your teacher to take you to the nurse. Then there had been math class, where he'd sat behind you, asking you questions and begging you to explain the concepts he didn't understand—even though you didn't understand it much more than he did. Eighth grade history, where Steve had done a presentation on his grandfather's experience in the World War, and you had been the only to actually raise your hand to ask a question.

Steve got up from the door and went up to his bathroom, stripping out of his uniform to take a shower. While the water soaked his hair and skin, warming him up, Steve's mind turned back to you—not that it had ever really left you.

You had been his first crush. Well, his first real crush. You'd been pretty, even when you were young and curious and a year younger than he was. Most of his friends had said that the younger girls were cute, but embarrassing to like. So Steve hid that he liked you. It wasn't until Nancy in high school, when it became cool, that he dated anyone younger than himself.

He wished he'd said something to you then. Would it have saved him a world of hurt? Or would it just have been an even worse broken heart waiting for him?

Steve recalled the way you had looked at him earlier, your eyes practically sparkling and your lips stretching into a gorgeous, content smile. It had stopped his heart to know that he was the reason you looked so happy, that he had brought that smile to your lips and that he had made those smile lines around your eyes appear and that he had been the reason your pupils were blown wide.

Steve shut off the shower and pulled on a new pair of boxers, flopping onto his bed with a content sigh, which matched the happy smile on his face.

You liked him.

Feeling like a teenage girl, Steve rolled until he could hide an excited squeal in his pillow.

You liked him again.

Steve was certain that's what made him so giddy. You'd liked him before he'd become King Steve, before the popularity made him interesting—and you liked him again, now that he'd changed and learned and grown up. Now that he'd learned to be himself without a care in the world for anyone else's opinion.

It was like redemption, but it felt so much better than that.

A sudden feeling overwhelmed Steve.

The next time he saw you, he needed to tell you how he felt about you. He needed to make it clear that Robin's slip-up had not ruined the slow banter, the friendship the two of you had been dancing around.

Resolved, his thoughts stopped spinning. He turned off the lamp on his nightstand and shut his eyes.

Please come back tomorrow, he thought, before falling into a gentle sleep, full of dreams of romanticized meetings, confessions, and kisses.

~❊~

You avoided Scoops for several days, choosing to tough out the warm weather in the overcrowded community pool until your mortification subsided. Robin had called repeatedly to assure you Steve wasn't weirded out or annoyed or embarrassed by your crush on him. In fact, she almost made it sound as if he was pleased by it.

But you still couldn't make yourself go to Scoops Ahoy. Even the mental image of walking in and seeing Steve's face twist with some kind of disgust made your stomach twist.

But a girl could only take so much of Billy Hargrove. So, after nearly a week, you drove to the mall instead of the pool. It still took you nearly ten minutes to force yourself out of your car.

You had thought seeing Steve and Robin in their sailor uniforms had been strange, but there was a far stranger sight directly ahead of you: Robin at the counter, staring in absolute confusion, and Steve jumping with joy at the sight of the small child in the front of the store.

"Henderson!" Steve's smile was huge. The sight made you smile, albeit a bit more confused. "Henderson! He's back, he's back!"

"I'm back! You got the job!"

"I got the job!"

And then, just when you thought this strange scene could not get any weirder, Steve mimed playing a trumpet and both he and the child did a strange miming handshake, giggling all the while.

Robin leaned forward. "How many children are you friends with?"

Steve's overjoyed smile slipped from his face. He gestured to Robin with a strained look on his face, as if he were signaling See what I have to deal with?

"You mean there's more children?" you asked, walking up to them with a shy smile, almost embarrassed to make your return. Your stomach dipped as Steve turned to you, but his smile was back.

"Hey, you're back!" Steve said. "I thought we'd never see you again!"

You shrugged. "Yeah, well, I got tired of Billy flirting with me."

"Max's brother?" the child asked.

You stared at him. "I don't know who that is. Or who you are, actually."

"Oh, I'm—"

"This is Dustin," Steve interrupted. "Dustin Henderson. He's, uh, he's one of my friends." He went behind the counter and started making an ice cream sundae.

You gave Dustin your name and offered him your hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"How do you know Steve?" Dustin asked.

At the same time, both you and Steve pointed to Robin. She waggled her fingers at him.

"I'm going on break," Steve said, handing the sundae to Dustin. "Your turn to man the counter. Come on, Dustin, my treat!"

The two of them slipped into a booth. You leaned against the countertop with a heavy sigh.

"There's like...five or six of them," Robin said. "Kids, I mean. That he's friends with."

"Jesus," you muttered. "How old are these kids?"

"Like...thirteen, maybe?"

"Oh, boy."

Robin giggled. "Looks like you gotta share your man with children now."

You choked. "He's— He's not my man, Robin!" you hissed, your entire body burning. You glanced at Steve, but he was too engrossed in whatever story Dustin was telling him.

"But that's why you're here, isn't it?" Robin asked. "You came back because you're ready to talk to him again, knowing that you like him and he likes you."

You glanced over at Steve. While you observed him, Robin slipped out from behind the counter, quietly humming to herself as she worked.

"Yeah, I mean, sure," he was saying to Dustin. "It's not really a good idea for me though, gotta keep in shape for the ladies." Was it just your imagination, or did his eye stray over toward you?

"Yeah, and how's that working out for you?" Robin teased.

"Ignore her," Steve said quickly.

"She seems cool," Dustin said.

"She's not," Steve said, even quicker. "But, uh, the girl you just met? She's cool. She's really cool." A smile tugged at your lips. You pushed it away as you looked down at the floor, completely missing Steve's lovestruck glance toward you.

Dustin, however, missed nothing, and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, really, Steve?"

Steve cleared his throat. "Anyway. So, uh, where are the other knuckleheads?"

"They ditched me yesterday," Dustin said.

"No," Steve said, his face falling. Your heart squeezed at the sight of his empathy. The Steve from high school never would have cared about a kid whose friends had abandoned him, but this Steve did.

"My first day back! Can you believe that shit?"

"Whoa, seriously?!" Steve demanded, incredulous. Your heart warmed once again.

You turned back to Robin. "In answer to your earlier question," you said under your breath, "yes, that is exactly what I'm here to do."

She giggled. "I knew it! I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!" She paused. "Was Billy Hargrove really flirting with you?"

You nodded. "I guess he doesn't really care about high school social status, as long as he gets laid." You shuddered. "I've never felt more objectified in my life, and I pranced around on stage in fishnets and a bodysuit in front of the entire school last year during Chicago!"

"I'm still convinced that was our best show," Robin said.

"I'd like to know how we got the rights to it," you snorted.

"I'd like to know how we convinced Principal Higgins to let us perform it."

You snorted. "Yeah. Has anybody heard anything about next year's shows?"

"Nothing yet," Robin said.

You harrumphed, your gaze sliding back to Steve and Dustin and found them talking in hushed tones. Steve's face was fixed into an expression of embarrassed confusion.

"Oh, got customers, hang on," Robin said, and served them while you moved off to the side, watching Dustin speak behind his hand. Steve just blinked at him and told him to speak up.

"I intercepted a secret Russian communication!" Dustin said, far too loudly.

The entire store went quiet. You and Robin exchanged a glance.

"Jesus, shhhh!" Steve hissed. "Yeah, okay, that's what I thought you said."

Business as normal resumed and Robin's customers headed for their own table.

You cleared your throat. "Well, I guess I should head out—"

"No, no, no, wait! What about Steve?"

"He's busy, Robs," you said, gesturing to him. Your stomach did flips at the cute, teasing little expression on his pretty face as you caught him saying American heroes. You weren't sure you wanted to know what mischief they were getting into. "I'll just...come back tomorrow."

Robin sighed. "Fine. As long as you let me play matchmaker!"

You rolled your eyes. "You've been doing that for the past, what, four years?"

"Yeah, but this time I might actually be successful!"

You shook your head with a smile. "Catch you later, Robin. Bye, Steve!" you added as you walked past.

Steve's head snapped up. He scrambled up from his seat at the booth. "Hey, wait, wait, where are you going?" He caught your arm and your eyes darted to his fingers on you. Every possible excuse was wiped from your head. "I thought you were gonna stay and...hang out for a little while."

You smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I was going to, but your friend just came back, so I figured I'd just come back another time. So you don't have to...divide your already divided attention, y'know?" You gestured back to the counter.

Though there was understanding in Steve's eyes, he still looked disappointed. "Oh...um... Would you—" He cleared his throat, his cheeks gaining a deep pink shade. "Would you maybe wanna hang out together—" He stopped again. "Would you wanna go on a date? With me? Sometime?"

You couldn't stop the smile that stretched across your face. "When?"

"Oh, you know, whenever you want? If you want to, I mean."

You stopped his rambling with a finger against his lips. His eyes widened. "I want to, Steve. I really, really want to. I always have."

He beamed. "Really?"

"Really," you promised. You patted his chest. "Even in this stupid little uniform."

He laughed. "What do you say to...two days from now? Meet me here at the end of my shift so Robin can make fun of us like always—" You laughed with him. "—and then we can go see a movie?" His thumb caressed the skin of your arm. That single touch alone sent butterflies through your stomach, not to mention the beautiful, sappy look in his eyes.

"I'd like that," you said. "I'd like that a lot."

"And, um, if you'd like, there's a little dinner about ten minutes from here with awesome milkshakes we could go to after."

You beamed. "Oh, Steve."

"Yeah?"

"You're absolutely perfect," you said to him, cupping his cheek and smoothing your fingers over his skin. He hummed happily. "Steve?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I... Do you... Can we kiss? I know it's soon, it's just... I've wanted this for a long time."

Steve beamed. He leaned in, cupping the back of your head and pulling you into him. His lips touched yours, and you swore your body crackled with electricity. A feeling similar to pins and needles, but far more pleasant, spread throughout you.

He made to pull away. You brought both your hands to his cheeks and held him to you, kissing him for all you were worth.

In the booth, Dustin's mouth dropped open. A grin spread across his face.

At the counter, Robin, who couldn't see the kiss but saw your hands slide into Steve's hair, pulled out her whiteboard and added a singular tally into the 'You Rule' column.

She glanced back at you and Steve. Steve had broken the kiss to tug you close to him, hugging you to his chest. You twisted your hand into his hair, smiling over his shoulder, your eyes closed against the rest of the world.

Robin grinned; she guessed the 'You Suck' tallies didn't matter anymore. Steve had found the one his charm worked on.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Steve Harrington

part 2 coming soon!

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the S.H. taglist!} @ohatropa@nix-rose@live-the-fangirl-life

[mentally-gone002]

summer swims

summary: the whole gang is at steve pool to evade the heat. 

warnings: a teeny tiny bit of an innuendo

a/n: y’all… i’m on my steve harrington obsession time again (he’s my pookie🤭) so don’t be afraid to send me requests for him!!!! also i mean to not capitalize everything!

———————————————————————

“good afternoon hawkins! i’m your weatherman john kingston, and today is the hottest day of the year, with a high of 101 and a low of 95 degrees. apply that sunscreen and stay safe out there…” 

the weatherman spoke over the radio in cheerful sentences while i laid outside in the sun. my sunglasses were sliding down my nose due to the light sheen of sweat covering my body. 

the kids were down in the pool, laughing, sometimes screaming, and jumping into the pool. i smiled at them. 

“hey gorgeous !” my attention was dragged away from the page when i heard robin address me from the back door. 

i jumped out of my chair when i saw her. “hey beautiful!” i hugged her quickly. “was he nice to you?” i wondered, looking behind her at steve as he put his car keys on the kitchen counter and then ran up the stairs out of my sight. 

“he’s a dingus, as always.” she tells me while rolling her eyes. “how long have they been here?” she nodded at the kids. i looked back at them as lukas and dustin jumped into the pool at the same time, making max and el scream as water splashed them in the face. mike as will sat on the edge of the pool away from the group, chatting together quietly.

“maybe two hours? they just showed up and came out here.” i shrugged with a small chuckle. “i had to literally fight, and i mean fight, all the boys to put on sunscreen.” 

robin laughed. “it’s easier to work with girls isn’t it?” she winked and i playfully hit her with a laugh. 

“are you hitting on my girl?” steve asked robin as he wrapped an arm around my waist. he’d changed into his swimsuit.

robin shook her head with crinkled brows. “that’s classified information, harrington.” she winked at me again and walked into the house. “i’m gonna get into my swimsuit.” she told us over her shoulder. 

steve turned to stand in front of me with his hands on my waist. “hi.” he smiled, leaning down to kiss me. “sorry we were late, the other employees forgot they had to come into their shift.” 

i shook my head. “it’s alright. it’s been fun to watch the kids for once.” my arms went up to rest on his shoulders. “just listen to me when i tell you to wear sunscreen because i’ve already wrestled four of the six little shits. i’m tired.”

steve looked me over, eyeing how my bikini shaped me. “i wouldn’t mind wrestling you.” he grinned cheekily and i smacked his bare chest with a shocked laugh. “what? it’s the truth!” he grinned, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “you look sexy.” 

i moved my head slightly to look at the kids who haven’t even noticed that id moved or that steve and robin are here. “keep talking like that and you won’t get any sleep tonight.” 

steve chuckled lowly. “i’d like that.” he told me. 

“move it, dingus.” robin walked past us onto the patio with the bottle of sunscreen i’d put on the counter in her hand. 

steve glared at her from behind. “give me a second.” he kissed my cheek quickly before jogging up behind robin to pick her up and toss her into the pool. she let out a loud shriek before hitting the water. 

all the kids laughed as they looked over at steve.

i put my palm over my mouth to stifle my laughter as robin broke the surface with a gasp. her hair covered her face. “you okay rob?” i asked, walking to the edge of the pool to help her out. 

she pushed her hair from her face. “i’ll be okay after i get my revenge.” she glared at steve who had his arms crossed over his chest with a proud smile. 

i shook my head. “you shouldn’t have done that.” i warned. 

he opened his mouth in disbelief. “she called me dingus!” he said in an attempt to justify his actions. 

i scoffed. “have fun then. she’s scary.” i whispered the last part as i walked past him, patting his shoulder. “don’t forget sunscreen.” 

“yes ma’am.” he grinned. 

i went back to my chair and watched from afar as robin tried to drag steve to the edge of the pool. she groaned in disappointment. “y/n, tell your boyfriend to just except his fate and get in the pool.” 

i smiled as steve looked at me. “just let her push you in the pool.” i told him. 

“but my hair.” he pointed to his head of perfectly styled hair. 

“just jump in!” i yelled at him. 

all the kids were sat on the edge of the pool watching in anticipation for steve to be pushed in. 

he dropped his head back and sighed, stepping onto the edge so that the fronts of his feet hung off over the water. 

robin grinned and ran with her arms in front of her so that she got all the leverage. 

i laughed when his exclaim of surprise was cut off by the water. white bubbles surrounded his spot of submersion until he came back up again, spitting the water from his mouth. 

all the kids cheered, chapping their hands and robin bowed. the kids all got up and jogged carefully to jump in all together around steve. 

“woah! guys-“ steve tried to stop them but got a wave of water in his face instead. 

i laughed.

“in what way was that funny?” steve asked, hoisting himself out of the pool so that he could walk over to me with a sly look on his face. 

i dropped my smile. “hey, no! don’t you dare!” 

he hooked his arms under my legs and back, picking me up. “you’re the only one who’s dry here.” 

i looked at him in annoyance. “steve harrington, don’t you dare throw me in!” i told him sternly. “i’ll kill you.” 

“no you won’t.” he laughed before tossing me into the pool. 

i yelped before being enveloped by the cool water, making the heat of summer feel more bearable. i got my head above water and blinked, feeling the water burn my eyes. 

steve was squatting on the edge as i swam up. he offered me his hand and i took it before planting my feet on the pools wall to pull him back in. 

“fuck you.” steve sputtered while pushing his hair out of his face. i laughed along with the kids as they swam around like they were minutes ago. “that was low.” 

i shrugged and swam to the ladder. “you’ll get over it.” 

[astermath]

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

summary: robin falls head over heels for the cool girl renting horror movies at family video. steve can’t believe her awkward shyness is actually landing her a date, but he’s happy for her nonetheless.

word count: idk kinda short lol under 1K

notes: just wanted to write a little blurb, then it turned into something else, so enjoy this short little meet cute with robin ♡

normal sized font below!

Robin really is that love at first sight kinda girl.

She’s the type of girl to be busy sorting tapes at family video, when you walk in, all pretty femininity and mysterious aura around you. And suddenly she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She doesn’t know where she is, why she’s there, hell, she probably wouldn’t be able to tell you her name if she asked.

She doesn’t stop staring at you, not when you enter and not when you walk over to the horror section to pick something out. Only when Steve nudges her in her side, she snaps out of it, looking more flustered than ever.

“Dude, can you not?”

“Sorry man, it just— looked like you were falling asleep with your eyes open! What’s with you anyways?”

Robin doesn’t respond, simply averting her eyes to the cash register and hoping Steve doesn’t pry any further.

Which would have worked, if you weren’t talking to her right now.

“I’m sorry, can I—“

“Yes! Yes, absolutely, you can…” Robin trails off, realising she hasn’t even let you finish your request. Her own eagerness embarrasses her to no end, her face heating up and her cheeks now closely resembling the colour of a tomato.

To her surprise, you giggle. You’re not awkward about it at all, which somehow makes her fall for you even harder.

“I was gonna ask what the latest time would be when I’d be able to return this.” you smile, and the blonde girl is certain it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Oh! Yeah, totally, no problem! It’s uh— a great choice, by the way. I love friday the 13th, sooo good, all that horror stuff, a huge fan—“

“A week.” Steve interrupts her rambling.

“Huh?” Robin turns to her friend.

“To answer her question, since you’re too busy being head over heels over here.”

You chuckle again, and Robin genuinely thinks her head is going to explode. Not only is her best friend making fun of her in front of you, but you’re not even making her feel bad about it. It’s like you find it cute or something. How crazy is that?

“Cool, I’ll just uh,” you hold up the tape, “rent this one then.”

Robin rings you up, her hands moving faster than her mind, and she hopes you don’t notice the slight shakiness in them. It’s not every day the prettiest girl in the whole world shows up at her job, so she’s not exactly prepared.

“Thanks,” you take the tape from her along with the receipt, your fingers touching slightly when she slides them over. Now you’re the one who’s getting the butterflies.

“So, you said you were a fan of horror movies?”

Robin nods enthusiastically, while Steve has to bite his tongue to hold back from saying that that’s the biggest lie ever. Robin isn’t a coward, not at all, but she’s the worst at scary movies. She’s just saying all this to impress you. She doubts it’s working though.

“Well, I was gonna watch this alone, but…” you grab a pen off the counter and scribble down your number on the receipt. “If you feel like watching it together, give me a call…” you pause to read her name tag. “Robin.” You smile again. “Nice name.”

“T-Thanks! You uh, you too!”

“Thanks, even though I… Haven’t told you yet.” You write your name down next to the number. “Now you know.”

“Huh…” She reads it over, not being able to keep herself from smiling like she’s sunshine incarnate. “That is a really nice name though.”

You grin, grabbing the tape off the counter and stuffing it in your bag. “Well, Robin, I’m free this Friday, if you wanna take me up on the offer.” You start walking backwards and give her a quick wave. “See y’around.”

She waves back, although more hesitant. Frankly, she’s still processing the entire encounter, and the fact that you’re real. Someone as beautiful as you exists, talked to her, even gave her your number. She didn’t know a reality like that was possible.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Steve scoffs in disbelief, though he’s pretty stoked for Robin all in all. He wants his friend to find her special person as much as he does for himself.

“Yeah,” she stares as you walk off, “me too.”

The freckled girl groans loudly and drops her head into her hands. “Why the fuck did I say any of that? Why do I always just keep talking?”

“I don’t see the big deal Buckley,” her coworker leans against the counter, “you got your date, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but then what? Then what do I do? I might have been able to charm her with my awkward idiocy this time, but what if we watch the movie and she finds out I’m a huge wuss!” She gestures around wildly with her hands, earning a confused stare from one of the older customers.

“This is going to sound so stupid, and I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he runs his hand through his brown locks, “but just like, be yourself? She seems nice enough, I’m sure she won’t judge you for being a total scaredy cat.”

“Not helping, Harrington.” She gives him a defeated look.

“Sorry, you know what I mean.”

“But what if she does?”

“What?”

“What if she does judge me? I mean jesus Steve, I wouldn’t blame her! She’s like— way out of my coolness league! She’s practically doing charity work watching a movie with me.”

Steve scoffs. “Don’t sell yourself short, Buckley, you’re plenty cool. Besides, if she does judge you, then clearly she’s not worth it. But again, I think you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, already picturing her holding onto you in fear of a completely fictional serial killer. “I guess you’re right.” She goes quiet for a moment, before she’s back to daydreaming about the whole scenario. The two of you on your couch, shoulders touching, maybe an arm around her, hands brushing when you reach for the popcorn, all that sappy stuff…

“Buckley?”

Maybe you’d find it cute that she gets scared. Maybe you’d wanna protect her. She gets that vibe from you, that you’d keep her safe from all the Freddy Kruegers and Jason Voorhees of the world.

“Robin!”

Steve snaps her out of her daydreaming, gesturing towards Keith who’s about to enter the store.

“You two organise those tapes like I asked you to?” Their manager isn’t even looking at them, struggling with putting away his car keys.

Robin swipes the tapes off the counter and stuffs them randomly into the two boxes. That’s a problem for later.

“Yup! All sorted! Good thing I love organising stuff!” She laughs awkwardly, and Steve is fighting for his life trying not to laugh.

She’s got bigger things to worry about right now. Like what to wear for her date with you. And what kind of snacks you like to eat with your movies. And how she’s going to explain that the scariest thing she can handle is Frankenweenie.

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

In which Platonic Stobin shares a girlfriend:

Steve: Robin, can I borrow your lip gloss?

Robin: Sure.

Robin kissed Y/N, and Y/N kissed Steve.

Steve: *giggles* Hey, Robin, can I borrow your girlfriend?

Robin: *also, giggling* As long as I can borrow yours.

Y/N: *affectionately* Dinguses.

[stormyelliotwritez]

hehehehheehehehehehehehe yes

FRUITY FOUR WITH FTM!READER S/O’s

I love this so so much and I’m so obsessed with these

Steve with a ftm!s/o

He has no idea what you’re talking about at the start

After talking to Eddie and looking up some stuff, he goes full on mama bear like he finds safe ways for you to bind and he pulls you out of situations that make you dysphoric

He gives you his clothes and not just ones he doesn’t want. This man gives you full access to his wardrobe and he doesn’t even get annoyed when you steal stuff for ages

He spreads rumors about people who are transphobic to you and makes them stop and he acts clueless when you bring it up

He makes sure to affirm you all the time by calling you male oriented pet names like handsome and pretty boy

He’s such a sweet boyfriend and he’ll cook dinner when you’re feeling down and let you stay over whenever you want

He makes an effort to not stare at your boobs when you’re having a non-binding day though sometimes he does but he assures you that you’re a guy in his eyes

He’s very touchy and he’s always attached to you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear that normally involve stuff like you’re such a strong man and you’re the hottest guy I know

Nancy with a ftm!s/o

She doesn’t even notice at first and when you bring it up, she nods and then keeps working on whatever she was working on

After you go home, she does a whole bunch of research or at least as much as you can do in the 80’s and writes down how she can be most helpful

She gets Jonathan to help her find you guy clothes and she gives them to you and said that she was just thinking of you as if she wasn’t obsessing over helping you for ages

She gets so worked up over helping you but won’t show it

She’s good at comforting when people make you feel like an outcast (coz of the whole slut era)

She calls you your preferred name like all the time and doesn’t use pet names much

She invites the guys over to hang out a bunch because she wants you to feel comfortable as a guy and she tells Mike he can go to you for guy problems

Robin with a ftm!platonic s/o

Shes always near you and she deathstares people who think either of you are weird

She rambles a lot about how cool of a guy you are and how you’re an even cooler guy than Steve sometimes which is saying something

She didn’t even blink when you told her and then she was immediately like I’m a lesbian and I thought you were a hot girl and now you’re a cool guy and she rambles for a bit

She helps you cut your hair if you hadn’t already because she cuts her own and so she knows what she’s doing

She steals your clothes like all the time and gives you her mascish ones to borrow

She wants to introduce you to the guys now that you know you’re a guy and she loves seeing how happy you get

She rambles when you feel dysphoric and bleh so that you can take your mind off it

Eddie with a ftm!s/o

He blinks twice like a cat when you tell him and then immediately starts calling you a guy and his boyfriend if you’re already dating

He lets you borrow his clothes and especially his vest and he takes you shopping

He gets you to play dnd and he makes you the most masculine character ever like muscles and he’s a rogue or something

He invites you to his gigs and says sappy shit like this song is dedicated to my handsome fucking boyfriend

He’s so so so touchy and reaffirms like all of you. he’ll say stuff like your jaw is so so masculine and you have such strong shoulders and hands bigger than his and hes so touchy and runs his hands all over you

He rants at people whenever they act shitty towards you and makes sure all the attention is on him

He’s such a good boyfriend and he doesn’t always understand why you feel dysphoric and bleh coz he thinks you’re the hottest guy alive but he tries his hardest to understand for you

[sheisjoeschateau]

“Oh, so do WE love Steve…” | Part VIII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, more angst, mentions of death, injuries, Max in a coma, fearful tears, shared sadness, end-of-the-world terror talk, tough conversations and brutal honesty, jealousy and regrets. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Not a super action packed chapter, but we unpack a lot in this one. Sh*t gets addressed that needs to be addressed. Dr. Owens delivers some hard news. Robin to the rescue, big time, for her platonic soulmate with a capital P. Platonic Stobin in full swing. Eddie still has no chill, but is the zany friend that everyone needed. Eddie & Robin bonding. Argyle becomes a therapist. Nancy faces some hard truth. Jonathan faces harder truth. Jopper being the ever-observant grandparents. Murray being Murray. Steve and Bauman Squared are more in love than ever. And the kids? Little legends.

ANOTHER LONG ONE. AGAIN: PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

“Dislocated the shoulder, but no break.  Popping it back into place isn’t going to be a picnic, but it’s way better than a break.  So we’re off to a great start.  Let’s take a look at your ribs now…”

Dr. Owens had you seated on the edge of the bed in Joyce and Hopper’s room downstairs.  Murray, Steve and Robin all stood nearby, alongside them.  They all watched anxiously.

Argyle and Eddie were on kid/teen duty.  They made sure to keep them out of the room, which they managed to convince them of by going upstairs to sit with Max and read to her out loud. 

You hissed as Dr. Owens made contact with your ribcage, and he frowned.  “Possible fracture there.  Good news is, if they were broken, you’d be on the ground in pure misery.  They might even just be really badly bruised.”

You sighed.  “I’m good with that.

Murray felt both relieved and frustrated at the same time.  God, he hated doctors.  Especially ones who served as double agents for the government.  But Dr. Owen’s had more than proven himself to be trustworthy, so your uncle was putting up with him.  For your sake, especially.  You were basically the only kid he was ever gonna have.

“Best bet is to rest, ice them regularly and let them heal for about six weeks.”

You frowned.  “Not so good with that.”

“Welp, you’re gonna have to be,” your uncle told you.  Steve and Hopper nodded.  You huffed, and Steve was selfishly grateful to know that you would have no choice but to stay home and out of danger. 

“Alright, let’s check that heartbeat, shall we?” Dr. Owens asked with a smile.  He took out his stethoscope, placing the instrument inside of his ears and blowing hot air onto the cold circle that would be placed over your heart.  You brought the collar of your shirt down so that he could place it on your chest, and he listened closely while you waited. 

Dr. Owens' smile slowly faded, and a prominent crease began to form between his brows.  Robin clocked it, along with Steve.  Hopper tried not to react, but Joyce’s fidgeting definitely gave it away.

“W-what’s wrong?” Joyce asked, unable to help herself.

Dr. Owens just held up a finger, politely gesturing for them to wait.  You furrowed your brow, suddenly aware of the fact that something seemed to be the matter.

Steve swallowed, unblinking.  What now…

Murray was not happy at the tension in the air, looking over at Joyce anxiously. 

Dr. Owens eventually cleared his throat, pulling the stethoscope out of his ears with a deep inhale.  He looks at you kindly, eyes solemn.  You stare back, questioning. 

“Well, umm…it’s normal.  Not surprising, given the electric shock, but uh…your heartbeat’s not at its normal steady rhythm.”

Robin heard Steve suck in a breath, placing a hand on his forearm as they all looked at Dr. Owens. 

“Cardiac arrhythmias is normal in these cases,” he tells you. “A heart arrhythmia occurs when the electrical signals that tell the heart to beat don't work properly. The heart may beat too fast or too slow. Or the pattern of the heartbeat may be inconsistent.  A heart arrhythmia may feel like a fluttering, pounding or racing heartbeat. Some heart arrhythmias cases are harmless.  Most, in fact.”

“Well, what about this one?” your uncle asked, voice grave. 

Dr. Owens sighed.  “Too soon to tell,” he said apologetically.  “But it’s important that it remains monitored.”

“What do we do.” …Steve’s question sounded more like a statement, laced with worry and dangerously voice low. 

Dr. Owens looked at him sympathetically.  “I can get a prescription that will help.  An antiarrhythmic medication.  No surgery is needed unless it’s severe.  It might not be.”

“How can you tell?” Joyce asked, worriedly.  “I mean – what are the signs that we need to look for?”

“Fainting, chest pain, dizziness.”  Then, to you, “If you feel like the heart is fluttering, or leaping inside of your chest, definitely make note of it.  Scale it, 1-10, how bad it is.  Be honest with yourself.  Don’t tell yourself you’re more fine than not, and vice-versa.  Don’t let it panic you, but just…stay alert.”

Steve wanted to pull every single one of his perfect hairs out.  How the hell was that supposed to help?  What happens if you wound up passed out on the floor, dead before they would get you proper help?

“Yeah, but what if — w-what if —”

That's all that Steve could mutter.  Robin squeezed his forearm tighter, masking her own fear as she gnawed at her bottom lip relentlessly.  Murray stared at Dr. Owens, visibly upset.  Hopper looked pale, along with Joyce.

“How fast can you get us that medication?” Hopper asked, like a protective papa.

“I’ll get it to you tonight.  Maybe tomorrow morning,” Dr. Owens promised.  “I can bring as much as you may need.  Meantime, I’ll leave the stethoscope so that you can monitor the heartbeat.  Here, let me show you what to look for.”

Dr. Owens instructed Steve and Murray on how to monitor your heartbeat, and you ached as you watched Steve look consumed with dread as he did his best to keep it together and not freak out.  Hopper and Joyce took notes, too.  Everyone listened to your heartbeat, Steve most of all.

You took his hand.  “Remember, it’s still there,” you murmured to him softly.  He nodded, knowing you were right but still not content with the reality of things.  Robin gave you a sympathetic smile, grateful for you and your courage.

Then, you looked at Dr. Owens with gratitude.  “Thank you.  For being here, and…helping out.  I know you’re putting yourself on the line.”

Dr. Owens gave you a deeply appreciative look, along with Hopper.  He wrung his hands.  “Appreciate that, kiddo.  Truly.” 

Everyone went over the plans that would go into effect, given the mandate taking place in just a few short days.  Hopper mentioned that it might be best for Dr. Owens to seek shelter with them, if things went south for him — given his compromised identity as an accomplice to them vs. the government.  The doctor couldn’t argue that, saying he would think about it.  Steve and Robin mentioned to him that Eddie needed looking over as well, which he said he’d do before he left.

While the adults talked, Steve and Robin walked with you out the bedroom door.  You looked outside the living room windows, hating the thick cloud of infected air that had only gotten worse — seemingly overnight.  It was dense, congested with alternate dimension disease. 

“Seriously, hate that I can’t even get some damn fresh air,” you sighed.

“Last thing you need is bad air in your lungs,” Steve told you, his fingers reaching to massage the crown of your head.  You sighed, knowing that he was right. 

The kids heard you all walking out of the room, Mike and Lucas peeking their heads around the doorway leading into Max’s room upstairs.  They made for the stairs, followed by Dustin, Will and El, rushing towards you all.  Eddie and Argyle shouted after them, but they quickly rushed over to you. 

They swarmed you all with questions.  Is your shoulder broken?  What about your ribs?  Are you hungry?

“One at a time, kiddos,” Robin warned. 

“No broken bones,” Steve told them, “But possible fracture.  Ribcage.  So no bear hugs, no tackling, no…rough-housing.”

Mike cocked an eyebrow at him.  “Speak for yourself.”

Lucas smacked him.

“Thank you, Wheeler,” Steve said wryly.  Mike smirked.

“Also, we gotta keep watch over Bauman’s heartbeat,” Robin pointed out. 

El looked worried.  “How come?”

You gave her an assuring head rub before carefully pulling her in for a hug.  “Just a bit of an irregular heartbeat.  You know.  Given the shock and astral-planing and all.”

El held you tight, cautious of your ribs.  

“…guess this means no coffee then, huh?” you asked, depressed at the mere thought. Caffeine was no longer your friend.

“That is correct,” Steve told you with a light kiss pressed to your head, then El’s.  “Alright, kitchen everyone.  Breakfast.  Let’s go.”

“Bauman, we need to pop your shoulder back in place,” Dr. Owens hollered after you, and you dreaded the pain that awaited you.

Eddie made it downstairs with Argyle.  “I’ll fix up a feast, big boy,” he told Harrington, giving him a quick couple pats on the shoulder.  Then he squeezed your cheek.  “Keep that heartbeat in rhythm, sweetheart.  I’ll make you a sweet mixtape for inspiration.”

You chuckled deeply, appreciating his sense of humor deeply.  Even Steve did, shaking his head and grateful for the cooking assistance.  “Don’t kill my toaster, Munson.”

Steve walked back into the bedroom with you, holding your hand while you had your shoulder popped back into place.  It was gnarly.  Plenty of pain medication followed that, one that took your heartbeat into account.  It was bound to knock you out at some point, so Steve and Robin made sure to get you back into the kitchen for some food before you’d need to head back upstairs and knock out asleep.

Hopper and Joyce helped out by adding some pancakes, sausage and eggs to Eddie’s cereal bar.  Murray was already day-drinking.  Dr. Owens stayed behind to join you all, at the invitation of the adults.  Currently, he was going over notes that Hopper had given him in a seat next to Murray.

Argyle saw Jonathan round the corner – looking glum.  “Yooo, bro-cha-cho.  Purple palm tree delight?”

Jonathan blinked, slowly brought out of his trance.  He looked tired, head hung low.  Honestly, he looked like shit.  “Oh, uhh…maybe later.  Yeah.”  He gave Argyle a sad smile before sulking off towards the front door while pulling a bandana over his mouth and nose — leaving the house.

“YO, GIMME SOME.”  Eddie spoke with a mouthful of fruit loops.  “Air’s shit anyway.  Why not fry my lungs s’more?”

“Fry it with what?” El asked innocently.

Eddie swallowed the sweet cereal awkwardly.  “...candy.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he poured everyone a glass of juice, and Robin held back a snort with all the strength that she could muster while divvying out plates.

“Really lame, gross candy,” Hopper threw back over his shoulder while flipping pancakes.  He eyed Munson with a protective dad look on his eyes.

“The weird peanut butter smelling kind,” Murray added, reading a newspaper and gritting at the taste of his straight vodka.

“Thank you, Murray,” Joyce reprimanded him.

You were seated next to El and Mike, not allowed to help given your sharp shoulder pain and the medication beginning to sink in.  Steve placed your food in front of you, along with the kids’. 

“Fresh pot of coffee going on,” Hopper announced while cooking.

You sighed, turning to Steve.  “Baby, do you —”

You stopped, catching yourself.  But so did everyone else.  Too late now.

“...have…decaf…?”

Steve’s heart swelled, his cheeks flushing. 

Lucas and Dustin made eye contact, trying not to laugh or get giddy.  Mike and El did, too, along with Will.  All the kids were in on it now — thanks to last night’s impromptu sleepover in Max’s room, unbeknownst to the rest of the household.  The OG party knew the secret, but they also agreed (thanks to Dustin’s firm warning about Murray’s rampage last night) not to press either you or Steve about it yet.  Big emphasis on yet.

Robin poured syrup in slow motion, and Eddie bit back a shit-eating grin.  Argyle looked unfazed, though, dishing up a plate of food. 

Hopper was grinning down at the pancakes he was serving up, back turned to everyone still.  Joyce unabashedly looked like a very happy mama, as Murray’s eyes peeked over the newspaper gleefully.

“Yeah, baby, I do,” Steve said, shooting you a wink and moving to go get some.  You blushed at Steve’s returning the pet name.  Steve walked towards the large pantry, passing Nancy — who you saw was now standing in the doorway, having heard it too.  She looked tired, similarly to Jonathan.  You gave her a soft smile, which she reluctantly returned. 

Walking towards you, she asked in the smallest of voices —

“How're you feeling?...”

You could tell that something was wrong, wanting to ask but also not.  “Shoulder’s screaming, but not broken thankfully.  Just out of the socket, Dr. Owens’ popped it back into place.  I’ll be alright.  Thanks, Nance.”

She gave you a relieved, tight-lipped smile.  You gave her as soft a look as you could, and Mike chimed in to break the tension.

“Nancy, I swear, Jonathan’s gonna turn into a palm tree if he keeps blazing it up,” he snorts, the joke very ill-timed.  But Dustin’s chuckling, along with Lucas’s, keeps him in a state of oblivion.  Something flickers in Nancy's eyes, and to your surprise she chuckles too — humorlessly.  Darkly.

“Yeah.  You can say that again.”

…so she agrees with her brother’s joke?  Nancy moved to dish herself up a plate, expression bitter and her movements aggressive.   You felt bad and you didn’t even know why.

Mike definitely looked confused, along with his friends.  Will looked concerned, along with Joyce.  Mother and son made eye contact.

Steve returned, ready to make a pot of fresh decaf.  He brought an extra coffee pot with him.  Rich kid perks.

“Morning, Nance,” he acknowledged her, moving to make the coffee. 

Her heart seized, voice tight.  “Hey.”

Hopper made uncomfortable eye contact with Murray, who buried himself deeper into his chair with the newspaper.  He did not account for this sort of awkwardness when going on a rant last night… Hopper shot him a high-raised eyebrow while flipping another pancake.

Steve heated up the pot of decaf, taking a plate that Joyce dished up for him and moving to sit next to you.  Mike made room for him, not even questioning it.  That made Nancy scoop more than enough eggs onto her plate than necessary. 

Hopper clocked it.  “You, uhh…need some cheese, or…?” 

Joyce gave Hopper a disapproving look, old married couple behavior in full swing.  Nancy looked down at her plate, embarrassed.  “Oh…n-no, I’m —”

Nancy awkwardly moved to sit down at the table next to Dustin.  Robin gulped, knowing what this was all about.  Finally, everyone was seated at the table – aside from Steve, who stood to pour you a cup of hot decaf coffee before bringing it over to you.  You sipped it, eyes becoming hooded with exhaustion as the pain medication set in.  Steve scooted his chair closer so that you could lean on him if needed.  Nancy had to peel her eyes away, staring down at her food — playing with it, unable to stomach eating it now.

She couldn’t even be mad.  How could she?  What right did she have to be mad?  And who would she even be mad at?  You?  Steve?  Jonathan?

Herself.  She was mad at herself.

That’s what she realized last night, when she and Jonathan didn’t get a wink of sleep in their room.  They’d stayed up, hashing it out once and for all.  It was a hurricane of sadness, harsh truth and reality – all at once.  Words that had been left unsaid.  Feelings that had never been expressed.  Regrets, empty promises and words of disappointment.  All aired out like dirty laundry.  He had asked how long she’d been falling for Steve again, which she had countered by asking him how long he had been planning to dump her while he was in California.  Jonathan had been stunned into silence, asking how the hell she knew that and if she had spoken to Argyle.  Nancy’s eyes, filled with tears, had stared at him with the look of utmost betrayal.  “It was a hunch.  Until right now.”

Neither of them got closure that night.  Nearly 5 hours of back and forth, and it got them nowhere.  They went to bed angry.  Sad, heartbroken and lost.  But sleep didn’t find either of them.  Instead, they both stared in opposite directions — backs turned to one another in a shared bed.  The morning had re-ignited the argument whenever they heard Dr. Owens arriving, because when Jonathan had moved to get up, Nancy asked him bitterly: “need to go hide your stash?”  That started back up all sorts of hissed, whispered arguing.

“Nancy, where’d Jonathan go?” Joyce’s question, soft and a bit worried, rattled Nancy’s thoughts.

“He just…wanted to get some fresh air.”

Everyone was silent.  Dr. Owen’s looked up from his files.  “It’s really bad out there.  He really shouldn’t be breathing any of that in.”

Nancy grit her teeth, fork scraping across her plate and making Robin cringe at the jarring sound.  

Mike snorted as he ate more pancakes.  “His lungs are already in rough condition as it is.  Probably doesn’t even matter.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes down at her plate of toyed breakfast food, nauseas.  She nodded her head bitterly, speaking through gritted teeth: “Agreed.  What’s it matter?  Likely irreparable anyway.”

No one missed the double meaning behind that as she rose to stand and dump her plate into the trash.  She quickly made her way out of the room, knowing the damage was already done but not having it in her to care.  Nancy couldn’t get away fast enough.

Eddie looked so uncomfortable but also sympathetic.  He knew this was a result of last night, along with Robin.  They shared a quiet, concerned glance.  Mike and the kids were just confused.  What was her deal?

Steve’s brow was furrowed, along with yours — however, you were already feeling the medicine kick in so everything was starting to feel fuzzy.  Your fingers were wrapped around the hot cup of decaf, warming them.  You were wearing a few rings that Eddie had gifted you while in the upside down, and as Steve focused on them now he realized just how hot you looked wearing them.  He took in your slightly hooded eyes, moving to stand.  “Wanna go lie down?”

You nodded, excusing yourself and thanking Dr. Owens again.  He told you that he’d make sure to get the medication later today, then to Eddie — “Hey Munson, let’s go check on how those stitches are holding up, yeah?”

Eddie gulped.  He hated needles and doctor tools.

Robin smirked.  “Let’s go show him my handywork.”  They all moved off to the living room, followed by Hopper.

Joyce looked perplexed still, unsettled by Nancy’s exit.  She turned to Will, speaking softly, “Did Jonathan tell you anything?  Is something wrong?”

But Will shook his head, shrugging, just as confused and concerned.  “Nothing,” he whispered back. “I was gonna ask you that.”

The eldest and youngest Byers looked pensive, thinking.  Wondering.  Worrying.

Mike’s face was quizzical. “What do you mean?  Why would anything be wrong with them?”

An incredulous scoff from behind the newspaper made everyone turn in Murray’s direction.   The grouchy man just sipped on his morning cup of poison, minding his business — even though he stuck his nose in everybody else’s.  

Joyce’s eyes narrowed at the front page of the Hawkins Press.  Of course…

“Hey, Mur?”

Murray cringed at Joyce’s sugary sweet, all-knowing tone… Hesitantly, he lowered the paper by just barely an inch.  He internally winced at the motherly eyes that bore into his soul from the table.

“Wanna go help me start clearing out the basement?”

Oh my god, Joyce Byers is going to murder me in Steve Harrington’s basement.  

That’s all Murray thought while he set down his newspaper, swigged the last of his drink and followed her downstairs.  He began to mentally write his eulogy.

Hopper grunted, setting his fork down.  “Ahhh, geez,” he huffed, standing up to follow them.

The kids all eyed each other, left alone at the table — no adults or older teens in sight.  What the hell just happened?

***

Steve got you upstairs safely, tucking you into bed and making sure you had water at your bedside table along with a walkie so that you could signal for him if you needed anything.  It made you chuckle. 

“What?” he asked you, quizzically. 

You shook your head.  “Still wondering why you’re considered the mom?”

Steve shot you a wry look, no heat in his eyes.  You were already beginning to doze off, the better pain meds doing their thing – thanks to Dr. Owens. 

With a little shake of his head and fighting a smirk, Steve crouched to kiss your forehead, then your neck.

“Careful, Harrington,” you murmured sleepily.  “Don’t wan’g’my heart rate up.”

“Shush, I’m keeping it steady,” his lips murmured into your jaw.  You hummed in approval, feeling yourself beginning to drift off as his breathing tickled your neck.  Steve whispered that he loved you, and you faintly whispered it back as you fell asleep. 

Unable to contain himself, Steve placed his ear to your chest for a moment — listening to your heartbeat.  He frowned to himself, hearing the sporadic beat.  Thump.  Th-thump, thump.  Thump thump.  His throat started to burn, along with his eyes.  But your fingers gently scratching his head, ceasing as you finally fell asleep, kept his emotions at bay.

Steve reluctantly pulled himself a way, pressing a lingering kiss to your hand before making his way out of your bedroom door.

He jogged downstairs to meet with the adults again, checking on Eddie as he was finishing up with Dr. Owens.  The older man smiled at Steve.

“I gotta say, Harrington.  Your friend’s a natural caretaker.  Could be a nurse one day.”

Robin gave a smug grin.  “See?  I’m not just a band nerd.  Turns out, I’m a real geek.  A medical one, at that.”

Steve smirked back at her.  “Yeah well, hope you like blood and needles and guts.”

“Psh.  After the shit we’ve seen?” Robin scoffed.  “Think I can handle it.” 

“Touché,” Steve nodded.

“Speak for yourself,” Eddie grumbled.  “I never wanna see my own blood ever again.  I feel like a voodoo doll.  Vecna can suck my whole hairy ass.”

“Thaaaank you, Munson,” Robin cringed.  “Love that visual.”

“He can honestly suck mine, too.”

Dr. Owens muttering that was ten times more disturbing than Eddie.  The three teens were awkwardly quiet, aside from Eddie finally chuckling out of pity.  The older man didn’t even notice as he packed up his belongings.

“Alrighty then,” Dr. Owens said politely.  “Best be off.   I’ll be back tonight with the prescription for your lady.”

Steve blushed slightly at that, giving the doc a thankful nod.  

“Keep an eye on her,” Dr. Owen’s said kindly.  “She’ll be alright.  She’s a tough one.  Murray’s got one helluva soldier for a niece.”

“She’s bad to the bone,” Eddie reveled.

“Made of steel,” Steve agreed, fondly and voice soft.  But he nibbled at his lip, mind elsewhere.  He was still worried, and the doctor could tell.

“Just make sure she stays horizontal and lets those ribs heal.  That’ll do her heart some good.  And don’t fret.  I’ve seen way worse.”

Dr. Owens’ gave a firm pat and squeeze to Steve’s shoulder, hoping it would give him plenty of assurance. Steve gave him a quick, tight-lipped grin, pretending it helped.  Robin looked at her best friend worriedly. 

With that, Dr. Owen’s made his way out.  Hopper met him at the doorway, walking out with him.

“STEVE, WHERE’S THE PUDDING?”

Dustin’s sudden shouts from the kitchen made everyone jump.

“Jesus H. Christ —” Eddie hissed, clutching his heart.

“Henderson,” Steve exhaled, raking a hand through his hair as he turned to march towards the kitchen.  “I swear to god.”

“Lemme handle it,” Eddie huffs.  “Yo, BUTT MUNCH.  WE JUST HAD BREAKFAST.”

Stepdad of the year.

Steve would normally wave off the offered help, being the assigned mother of the group.  But even as the kids all made noise with Eddie, he found himself just…letting him take care of it.  He needed a break.  Needed to think.

“Steve, Joyce is asking where the keys to the basement breaker are,” Erica was asking him as she rounded the corner.

Steve blinked, nodding and wrapping his head around the request.  But Robin stepped in, sensing his internal overwhelm.

“I’ll get them,” she told Erica, shooting a quick look at Steve.  “Kitchen drawer, yeah?”

He nodded, sighing with relief.  Robin made her way there with Erica, and Steve took that as a chance at escape.  He could feel his chest tightening, breathing constricting a bit.  Yikes, he needed some air.  But that wasn’t an option either.  Best bet was the nearest empty room.  Max’s room was closer than his.  Steve quickly bound the stairs, pinching his nose and slipping into the room quietly — needing a moment, just a moment.

El walked out of the hallway restroom, right after Steve had closed the door.  She made for the stairs, heading down to find Hopper.  When he walked back inside from his chat with Dr. Owens, the two of them made for the basement — telling the kids to follow, while Robin told Lucas she would handle replenishing Max’s feeding tube upstairs.  She knew how to, since Dr. Owens had given strict intrusions to not only the adults but also to her.  She, along with you and Steve, knew how to handle it thoroughly.  Robin found herself oddly keen on helping people with the medical stuff.  It gave her a newfound sense of purpose.  She headed upstairs, pep in her step — who knows?  Maybe she’d found her calling, she wondered to herself.

She opened Max’s door, freezing when she found Steve on the other side of it.  Her heart sank.

Her best friend stood leaning against the wall to the right of the door frame — facing Max’s bed.  His face was scrunched, pained.  

“Steve…” Robin murmured, heartbroken.  She quickly shut the door, locking it and placing a hand on his shoulder.  The sight of a tear-track on his face, glistening in the gloomy natural light of the room, made her frown.

Steve looked at her for all of a millisecond, feeling caught but unable to stop now.  His emotions were definitely catching up with him, and Robin wasn’t surprised — given just how long he’d been keeping shit in.  She’d known for a while now: Steve Harrington needed a good, long fucking cry.  She watched him pinch the bridge of his nose, his pretty face crumpling even more and shoulders shaking as he bit down on his lip hard. 

“Steve, hey, it’s just me,” she whispered kindly, hugging and rubbing his shoulders while resting her chin there.  He kept as much noise trapped inside of his throat as possible, mainly just letting it all come out through a quiet flow of steady tears as he stood tensely.  He gratefully clasped onto one of Robin’s hands — with the one hand he wasn’t holding to the bridge of his nose with, willing the tears to stop.

“You’re really overdue for this,” Robin nudged him gently, squishing her cheek deeper into the curve of his shoulder.  “Seriously, I’ve been wondering when the hell you were gonna let it all out…”

Steve coughed on what seemed to be half a laugh, half a sob.  He was frustrated with himself.  With everything.  Your heart is failing you now and maybe forever.  Max is still in a coma.  His loved ones are all in danger.  His kids can’t catch a break.  His parents left.  Hawkins is basically dead.  And the upside down just gets closer, no matter how many gates they’ve closed over the last 3 years.

SO YEAH.  Robin was right.  Steve needed to fucking cry.

She stood there with him for a little while, letting her presence comfort him and not pushing.  Steve really did hit the jackpot with her in the best friend department.

“Sometimes, I wonder if she’s still there.”

Steve’s voice was thick, low and vibrating the room.  Robin knew who he meant, following his gaze.  Max.

Robin hummed.  “Trust me.  That little firecracker is very much alive and can’t wait to tear into all of us with her redheaded temper and sarcastic wit.”

If Robin had been looking at him, she would have seen the corner of Steve’s lips quirk up briefly in amusement.  She was right, of course.

“Think she knows?” Robin asks softly, still leaning onto Steve.  “About…anything?”

She felt Steve take a deep breath, exhaling deeply as he rubbed his face.  “M’not sure,” he murmurs, thoughts grim.  “Honestly, I hope not.  That’d mean she’s still trapped in there.  Somewhere dark.  Vile, and awful.”

Robin shuddered at that, hating the thought.  She decided to ask something different.  Lighter.

“Think she knew you were head over heels for a girl you swore you couldn’t stand?”  She turned her head on Harrington’s shoulder so that she was looking up at him with teasing eyes and a wiggling brow.  “Vowed to hate, forever and always, cross your heart and hope to die?”

Steve shook his head, beginning to grin.  He looked at Max the whole time while doing so, imagining his little sister/daughter figure giving him hell for falling for you but completely loving it.  Because while he knew that Max loved him — that little shit loved the hell out of you.

Steve’s frown suddenly returned, face crumpling all over again.  It broke Robin’s heart as she watched fresh tears fill his eyes, which he trapped from falling by quickly scrunching his eyes shut again and digging the heels of his palms into them.  It made Robin want to bawl.  But she held it together for Steve’s sake, lifting her head to turn and hug him tight.  She shushed him softly, desperate to calm him.  Comfort him, assure him.

Steve sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, forbidding his cries to make noise.  He couldn’t.  Not right now.  He could scream into a pillow later.  Right now, he just let Robin hold him until he got it together again.

Eventually, Steve pulled back — swiping at his eyes and nose, sniffing hard.  Robin looked at him sadly, rubbing his arms and letting him steady his breathing.

“Jesus, Robin, a heart arrhythmia…”

Robin had a feeling that was what was weighing heavily on Steve’s mind.  You, and your newly failing heart.  It made her upset, too.  Deeply upset.  It worried her sick.  But she couldn’t let Steve sense that.  Not right now.  She needed to be there for him — and by extension, you.

“We’re gonna steady it, Steve,” Robin promised, voice low but fierce.

Steve shuddered a sigh, eyes downcast and mind racing as he carded his fingers through his hair.  “It’s the end of the fucking world and all our heart rates are already on edge as it is —”

“So we keep her here,” Robin interrupted, gently.  “Out of harm’s way, as best we can.  We don’t let her put herself in a position to freak out.”  She paused, thinking.  “Yknow, come to think of it, Bauman’s probably the coolest outta all of us big kids.  Pretty sure that chick has freaked out the least.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly.  Oh, you.  “Yeah, because she’s a fucking sociopath like her uncle.”

Robin genuinely laughed at that, unable to help it.  Steve smiled, too.  But a few tears met the smile and the breathy laugh he let out.  Robin thumbed them away sweetly.

“She’s great,” Robin told him.  “Really great.  Stupid great.  Maybe my favorite lady I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.  Aside from Vicki.”

Steve sniffed.  “You tryna steal my girl?”

Robin cocked an eyebrow, happy to hear him teasing.  Good, it’s working.  “Oh, so she is your girl now, huh?  Exclusive, off-limits?”

Steve bit back a big, bashful smile — looking at her almost shyly and nudging her foot with his shoe.  He turned to look at Max, nodding in her direction.

“Think she’d approve?”

Robin looked at the sleeping girl, too.  She smiled sadly.  “Depends.  Of you two as a pair?  Yeah.  You’re mom and dad.  As far as she’s concerned, neither one of you has anyone else out there deserving of you both.  So I’d assume she feels you guys deserve each other more than anyone else deserves either of ya.”

Steve actually smiled at that, eyes sparkling as he looked at Max.  He took a minute to take in her still form, thinking back to when he first met her with the kids.  She was a badass.  You’d have thought she’d been fighting monsters all her life.  She actually took better to the whole upside down shit than he had, whenever he went over to Jonathan Byers’ house to apologize then got roped into all the madness.  He had to give it to her: Max was hardcore.

“I really need this shithead to wake up,” Steve chuckled humorlessly.

Robin did, too, squeezing his arm as she shook her head at Max’s sleeping face hooked up to a breathing tube.  “When she does…it’ll be a helluva reunion.”

Steve liked that.  When.

“And whennn your girl gets her strength back,” Robin continued, “along with her ribs back in tact, you know…given you, Byers and Munson took her to pound town…”

Steve made a face.  “Gross.  Don’t say that, no.”

“Damn, Harrington, get your head outta the gutter,” Robin popped her hip into Steve’s side.  “Even when I’m being serious, talking about resuscitation — not sex…you’re still jealous…at a hypothetical.”

Steve gave her a wry look, but then placed his cheek on top of her head as he looked at Max.

“As I was saying…” Robin murmured, a smile in her voice.  “When your girl is back up to speed, she will give you all the heart attacks to make up for it.  You won’t be able to stand her guts but you’ll be so in love with her it won’t matter.  And then Max will wake up…give you two shit for it…then be a mess of joy because the two babysitters turned enemies have suddenly become lovers.”  Robin paused, smiling to herself.  “And I’ll be the happiest, proudest, most sappy-go-lucky best friend in the world.”

Steve breathed a sigh at that, content.  It brought him peace in this moment — the idea of you, perfectly fine and all in one piece.  The idea of his kid waking up, her memory still intact along with her sarcasm and quick wit.  The idea of his best friend being so happy to see him so happy.

He threw an arm around her, and the two best friends just stood there for another several moments to revel in the quiet of it all — allowing themselves to dream.  Allowing themselves to believe.

***

Meanwhile, Eddie definitely did not feel guilty for having eaten the last 3 puddings that Henderson had selfishly stashed for himself.  Little bro’s just gonna have to cope, he thought to himself as he jogged up the stairs.  

He almost broke into song, Master of Puppets rambling on inside his head -- but stopped himself when he heard voices.  Tense voices. 

Eddie’s pace came to a slow, and he became not only more aware of his steps — but the voices, too.  Where they were coming from…to whom they belonged…

"So he was then. He was going to break up with me."

"Listen, I...I realllllllly don't wanna...speak outta term here..."

Only one guy under this roof talked that slowly, and only one lady under this roof spoke with that crisply.

Argyle and Nancy.

"Look, just -- tell me exactly what he said."

"That is what he said, man, I swear..."

Eddie could hear Nancy huffing exasperatedly. For a rich family, Steve's parents' house had some really cheap, thin doors...

He crept closer, still standing a few paces down. Just in case he needed to bolt, should someone catch him listening in -- or in case one of the two speaking on the other side of the door barged out of the room. Eddie listened, his senses on high alert and his curiosity burning.

"Then he was going to break up with me -- God, I knew it. I just knew it!"

Wait, Eddie thought. Jonathan was going to break up with her...? And Argyle knew...? But then...wait, then how did Nancy...?

"Look, Nancy," Argyle was sighing, sounding pretty worried despite his usual lackadaisical tone. "He didn't want to, alright? I'm a bro. I know when a brother's down bad, he was just freaking himself out, you know -- because of where you wanna go to college...where he wants to go to college..."

"Oh, that is so NOT an excuse."

"Which is whyyy I told him to talk to you --"

"Then why didn't he. Huh? Why didn't he??"

Eddie gulped. He could hear the genuine hurt and betrayal in Nancy's voice. Sheez, Byers was in for one helluva fight...

"Honestly, I'm asking myself that too, Nancy," Argyle was huffing this out, matching her energy. Even he sounded exasperated with his best bro. "But I'm also remembering that...like...that creepy Vecna dude kinda threw off everybody's groove. I mean -- I came to pick them up from the house and it was all getting shot up and stuff, liiiike...shit kinda hit the fan...you know...?"

"That's...still, that's not..."

"Annnnd you guys were all caught up in the shit going down back in Hawkins, man...you know? Chrissy, and...that coworker of yours, annnnd...that other random dude who hung out with... shiiiit, what was his name...? Jake...?"

"Jason," Nancy muttered lowly.

"That guy."

"Look -- Argyle." Nancy huffed again, flustered at life but regaining her edge. "Upside down stuff aside, Jonathan still took the time to talk this out with you. Not me, you. For weeks."

There was an awkward pause before Argyle spoke.

"...yeah, that's pretty bad..."

"He could have called. He could have written me. He could've, he could've, he could've. But he didn't."

"Why didn't you tell him that?"

"...what?"

Oh shit, Eddie gulped.

"Whenever we all got back here," Argyle explained. "Back in Hawkins. Why didn't you confront him about it?"

Another awkward silence.

"...I..." Nancy stumbled.

"Why didn't you go up to him, call his ass out, and call him out for not talking to you?" Argyle was suddenly sounding pretty sure of himself. It was out now character for him. Oddly? It suited him.

"I...I..."

Meanwhile, Nancy was uncharacteristically not sounding sure of herself.

Argyle gained speed.

"Think about it! You say you knew something was off...you say he was giving you mixed signals...you say he got back and suddenly acted like everything was fine, but that you sensed things still were not fine...so then why let it go? Why not tell him yourself? You're a loud woman."

"Whoa, what?" Nancy stuttered.

"You are!!! That's a compliment! You're loud and proud. You wear the damn pants. You have a gun collection. You don't hold back, even if you don't say fully what it is that you mean. Your poker face is shit."

"Argyle...!"

"You've been avoiding it too, Nancy," Argyle cut her off.

At this point, Eddie was frozen as he listened. Damn. When did Argyle become a therapist?

Clearly, Nancy was asking herself the same thing. Because it was quiet. Severely quiet.

Eddie started tracing shapes into the carpet with his mind while he stared at the ground, waiting to hear more dialogue. But it was crickets.

Finally, he heard Argyle sighing deeply. "Maybe if you both just...I dunno, man...listened to each other. Like...heard one another. You both just keep using whatever it is that you ask each other to like...one up each other...and it doesn't get either of you anywhere, man... Just hear each other out."

A tap on Eddie's shoulder made him flinch back, nearly jumping out of his skin. He whipped around to see Robin, staring at him with wide eyes. She held a finger to her lips.

Eddie couldn't believe that he managed to keep the scream trapped inside of him. He sagged with relief, heart pounding and silently pantomiming strangling her. Don't scare me like that. Her head bobbed back and forth as he shook her by the shoulders, and together they realized that they were both in on the secret:

Nancy and Jonathan are not alright.

Together, they softly crept down the hallway into Steve's bedroom. As Robin closed the door, Eddie whirled around to speak in a hissed whisper.

"Holy shit, what the fuck, this is like a soap opera --"

"Shhhhh," Robin hissed back, swatting at him to keep quiet.

"I'm literally whispering."

"And spitting."

"Sorry."

They continued whispering through gritted teeth, relieved to have each other to confide in. Eddie and Robin were beginning to feel like the zany aunt and uncle of the group who knew too much about everything going on around the house. It bonded them for sure. They knew about you and Steve, which also became a topic of whispered conversation right now as they sat cross-legged on the floor of Steve's bedroom.

"Sorry, but can we talk about how off we were trying to push Wheeler back on Harrington?" Eddie's eyebrows were raised practically to the top of his hairline.

Robin scoffed at themselves, shaking her head. "I'll say..."

"It was right there under our noses and we just..." Eddie moved his hand in a straight line, "...breeeeezed onnnnn past it."

"Yeah, but honestly?" Robin whispered eagerly. "I thought Bauman hit a sore spot that could never be repaired. Steve seriously was in love with Nancy. Like, really in love."

Eddie chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Trust me. I said the same thing. To his face directly, while we were in the upside down. Told him that what Wheeler did -- diving into the lake after him -- was the most unambiguous sign of true love I'd ever seen in my life." He paused, thinking. "But what I failed to realize was that...it was Bauman who freaking lunged for him first on the boat. And the way he clung to her hand, despite also looking mad at her for doing that --"

Eddie was reliving the memory, realizing something. Robin was, too.

"He was mad that she put her life on the line," Robin nodded along, slowly stitching together his thoughts.

"But it was just so fast," Eddie pointed out as he agreed. "Literally, one moment Harrington's back to the surface, getting ready to hop back on the boat. Next, he's being tugged down by that -- that thing... And Bauman just -- lunged for him. And he grabbed her hand, but the look he shot her?... It was so...conflicted..."

Robbin nodded, swallowing hard. "Like he grabbed her hand back gratefully, but also hated what she'd just done to herself by putting her life on the line."

"Which is whyyyy," Eddie continued, figuring it all out. "Whenever she got dragged underneath with him, and the two of them went at it -- bickering like crazy when we all got down there with 'em and fought off the bats...he was so mad at her. And she was mad that he was mad."

Robin scoffed a laugh, pace palming. "And all we saw was Nancy diving in after him --"

"After Bauman already beat her to it," Eddie muffled into his palms. “Duuuuude, they’re so in love. Been love. Unambiguously in love.”

"We are idiots," Robin giggled, face palming.

"Not as big as they are, though," Eddie corrected, snorting. They both snickered like big kids into their hands, trying to keep quiet.

Eddie finally sighed, thinking fondly. "Those two are actually stupid fucking adorable."

Robin smiled wistfully. "Yeah. Yeah, they are." She bit her lip, thinking. "Honestly, I've...I've never seen Steve this torn up."

She told Eddie how worried she was for her best friend. How worried she was for you. How desperately she wished that all of this would go away. How she prayed that Max would wake up, and that Vecna would choke on his own guts and that the upside down would cease to exist.

Eddie nodded, eyes solemn as he gnawed on his cheek. "I wish I could've known Chrissy better."

Robin's brows pinched together. She could see the genuine remorse -- maybe even regret -- in Eddie's eyes. Had there been...feelings there...?

"Wish that I'd..." Eddie mumbled, eyes on the ground searching for the words. "That I'd just...I don't know. Tried to notice, or care about something other than living in my own world all the time."

Robin gave his hand a squeeze, shooting him a synaptic tight-lipped smile. Eddie squeezed her hand back, gratefully.

"You're doing that now," Robin reminded him softly. "Chrissy sees that."

Eddie looked at her, his eyes going glassy. He looked like a sweet puppy when he got emotional. Robin noted just how wholesome that was as she placed her other hand on top of theirs.

"We seriously need to kill this son of a bitch," Eddie whispered, angered anguish briefly flashing in his dark eyes.

Robin nodded fiercely. "We will."

They took a few moments to just be in silence, letting it all land.

A light knock at the door broke through the tranquility of the silence, concluding the tender moment. Eddie and Robin looked at Steve's bedroom door, taking a second before Robin rose to answer it. Eddie figured that was best, given she is the platonic soulmate of the room's owner.

Neither of them were sure what to expect exactly, as far as who was on the other side of the door. Robin half expected it to be Steve himself. Eddie's expectations looked a lot like one of the kids.

So when they saw Jonathan standing on the other side, that made them all go stiff.

He still looked awful. Eyes rimmed red from exhaustion, a little bloodshot. His hair was messy, not sure how to sit on his head. These days, Jonathan looked haggard. While he was never the pretty-boy type, Jonathan was always good looking in a moody, brooding sort of way. The unconventionally attractive type. Lately? He just looked worn down, tired and a little bit like a bum. Definitely not the type of guy you would expect Nancy Wheeler to be going steady with, given how polished and precise she is. Opposites attract, but at this rate the two of them were becoming contrasts of one another.

"Hey," Jonathan said softly, timidly. He looked caught, but so did Robin and Eddie as he looked at both of them.

"Hey," they awkwardly repeated.

After a long, awkward, pregnant pause, Jonathan finally cleared his throat and gave his legs a little pat -- as if that might help break the tension.

"Is uhh, is Steve here?"

Robin shook her head. "No, he's with Bauman. I told him to go take a nap, since Dr. Owens got her so early and I know he's not sleeping."

Jonathan's eyes softened, looking sympathetic and giving her a light nod. He scratched his neck. Eddie clocked some weird sort of guilty glint in his eye. Like something was really on his mind and he needed to get it off his chest. There was almost an anxious twitch to him.

Eddie began to realize that he knew what this was about. About why Jonathan was looking for Steve, and why he looked so glum. So anxious.

Because Eddie was there that day. When you fell. When you died. When Jonathan tried to step in and bring you back, before Steve was finally able to step in. Eddie was there, watching it all happen. He watched Steve fall apart, fraying at the seams. He watched Jonathan exhaust himself with the attempted CPR. He watched how it completely exerted him, no doubt thanks to the lack of decent nutrition and lung damage that was due to the purple palm tree delight. That had to have to have set Jonathan's lungs on fire, as he desperately tried pumping air back into your lungs. Eddie had watched Jonathan lean back, only for Steve to verbally tear into him.

DON'T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.

IT'S NOT WORKING, IT'S TOO LATE.

NONE OF US GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER. FUCK YOU, BYERS. FUCK YOU.

The storm of words between Harrington and Byers was no doubt long overdue. That was evident with every single word that Steve spat at Jonathan, and every word that Jonathan bitterly wept. Both men had shrieked at each other, shrill and angry and hurt.

Eddie had watched as they both went at it, Steve lashing out and Jonathan feebly fighting back. He might not have been close with them in high school. He might have run in completely different circles than them. He might not have known anything about the two of them, or what sort of crucial role they played in each other's lives, or how the upside down not only existed but also forced them to merge worlds. But fast forward to yesterday, when you were dead at everyone's feet and no one knew if they would save you -- Eddie saw 3 years of unspoken words go flying between Steve and Jonathan. He watched it all unfold, ugly and loud and anguished.

Because while Steve might have found some sort of silent (albeit avoidant) peace that he inwardly had made with Jonathan Byers, his bitterness was still there. Festering, festering, festering...never truly unloading itself whenever he projected onto you.

Because you hadn't taken Nancy away. Jonathan had.

Maybe that's partly why Steve got so livid with Jonathan. Because he could now. Now that you were gone, or so they'd thought, he had no choice but to scream at Jonathan. To finally let him have it.

FUCK YOU BYERS. FUCK YOU.

Steve had screamed that in Jonathan's face, voice wrecked from angry tears and shrieks of pure fear. It was fucking personal.

And Jonathan had taken it. Like he deserved it. Because maybe a part of him did. Maybe, just maybe, a big part of him did. Not because he wasn't a decent guy. Hell no, Byers was a great dude. He had just...lost his way. And that was fine. But really, he wasn't as present as usual -- given his more frequently ~high~ state, and his newfound friendship with Argyle. That wasn't a bad thing. It just...changed things.

Eddie had watched Byers go from the super observant, introverted wallflower to a nonchalant, low-key absent-minded, slightly lazy guy. Not nearly as driven as before. Not that he was ever this super academic, wildly driven type to begin with. Still, there had been something more to Byers prior to now. Something alive. Lately? Byers looked like he was simply surviving. Doing just a bit more than the bare minimum to get by.

Meanwhile, Steve had grown exponentially. He'd gone from being an entitled, snobbish rich kid who made C's and D's to a street-smart hero who knew how to protect and care for both kids and his friends, along with being trusted by the adults involved in all of these terrifying circumstances. He wasn't the teacher's pet growing up, but he certainly was the favorite now. He was Steve Harrington: bad boy turned supermom/superboy. He wasn't quite superman. He'd lost the girl, because Lois Lane had chosen Bruce Wayne over him. But along the way, he'd unexpectedly fallen for Gotham City's badass princess who floated under the radar until she found her way into the circle of Hawkins Heroes -- the upside down underdogs. Steve was strong, he was loyal and he was true.

So that afternoon next to the electric fence, those two men were having a 3-year standoff without even truly acknowledging it. It was bound to blow up in their faces at some point. And you had been the catalyst.

Eddie took all of that in by looking at Jonathan Byers as he stood in Steve Harrington's doorway, looking into the eyes of the former jock's best friend and his new unexpected friend of a metalhead.

"When he's up...I need to speak with him."

Jonathan's voice shook a bit, nervously. But he made eye contact with both Robin and Eddie. His eyes were sincere, remorseful and eager. "Please."

***

:) thank u all for reading. thoughts on this chapter? guesses as to what might go down? TAGLIST: @xprloki @erastourvip  @get0ut0fmyr00m @Eddiemuns0nl0ver @marrowfrog00  @poppet05 @wiltedflowersundertowers  Originalthingparadise Pleuviors pumpkinonice Ihaveproblemsihaveproblems Brinleighsstuff Definitelynotherr sucker-4-angst notlilyyyy

[yeahiveheardofbears-fics]

Be My Anti-Valentine

You and your best friend Steve have a movie night on Valentine's Day, since you are both perpetually single. Except, maybe not for long...

hey babes! Happy way late Valentine's Day! I will say that i did base the reader character, once again, on my OC Mac from my ST rewrite series. so some side characters, relationships, and places will be from that universe. You don't need to read that to get the story, but if you like this dynamic then I definitely recommend it! I treat this little smut one shots like deleted scenes that didn't make sense in my main fic, but wouldnt escape my brain. I also did a lot of build up because I can't seem to write smut for Steve without making him an absolute loverboy <3 Enjoy!!

l-bombs, friends to loves, lots of exposition word count: 14,096 TW: uhhh, really not much, this is pretty loving honestly. underage drinking i guess

REQUESTS ARE OPEN, IF YOU LIKE THIS, PLZ MESSAGE ME CAUSE I NEED INSPO <3

fic masterlist

read on ao3 or read below the cut:

February 14th, 1986

The neon glow from Family Video flickers just across the street, casting a greenish hue onto the wet pavement outside. Through the glass doors of Vinyl Frontier , you can see the faint movement of Steve inside, pacing behind the counter, no doubt pretending to look busy. You know better.

He’s probably just spinning a tape case in his hands, waiting out the last few miserable hours of his shift—same as you.

You stretch your arms above your head with a groan, then lean against the counter, staring at the real misery: the Valentine’s Day display Jet had you set up. Rows of records with love songs, sappy ballads, and an obnoxiously large hand-drawn sign that reads MAKE A LOVE MIX FOR YOUR SWEETHEART! in looping red letters. The entire thing makes your skin crawl.

You’re halfway through reorganizing the New Releases section—because some asshole put Iron Maiden next to Cyndi Lauper —when the store’s phone rings behind you. You sigh, abandoning the records to grab the receiver.

“ Vinyl Frontier , what do you want?”

There’s a scoff on the other end of the line. “Wow. That’s how you answer the phone now?”

You smirk, already recognizing the voice. “Oh, it’s you. My bad. Vinyl Frontier , home of angsty losers and overpriced imports. How can I help you, Steve?”

“Much better.” There’s a pause, then his voice lowers conspiratorially. “Listen, just giving you a heads-up—there’s a couple that just left my store, all lovey-dovey, handsy as hell. They’re headed straight for your store, so you’ve got, like, thirty seconds before you have to witness… whatever the hell they were doing here.”

You groan, already standing to peek through the store window. And sure enough—there they are. The couple in question, walking hand-in-hand across the street, their matching red sweaters obnoxiously bright.

“Ugh. Them?”

“You know them?” Steve asks, bemused.

“They were making out between The Smiths and Bauhaus the other day,” you say, flopping back against the counter. “I Lysoled the shelves after they left.”

Steve makes a disgusted noise. “Jesus Christ. They were all over the romance section at Family Video . Like, I get it, love is great, whatever, but I work here. Have some goddamn respect.”

You snort. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Harrington.”

“Oh yeah, it’s been real happy,” he deadpans. “Nothing like watching every couple in Hawkins remind me that I’m pathetically single.”

You roll your eyes, even though you feel the same way. “It’s like an infestation. Can’t even walk two feet without seeing someone swapping spit.”

“Tell me about it.” There’s some muffled conversation on his end, the sound of a VHS tape clattering onto the counter. “Anyway, you still coming over?”

“Obviously.”

“I grabbed your stupid movies,” he says, sounding so put out that you have to grin. “But just for the record, I still think your choices are ridiculous.”

“They’re perfect,” you correct. “What’s wrong with them?”

Steve exhales like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “Alright, let’s start with The Thing . How exactly is that an anti-Valentine’s movie?”

“Because it’s about paranoia and distrust,” you say. “There’s no love. Just body horror and existential dread.”

“Uh-huh. And Sleepaway Camp ?”

“You know damn well why.”

“Okay, fine, that one’s fair.” He pauses. “But My Bloody Valentine ? You picked a Valentine’s Day slasher . That’s, like, half giving in to the holiday.”

“It’s a classic, Steve.”

“Mm-hmm.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I feel like you just wanted an excuse to watch a bunch of horror movies with me.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. I don’t need an excuse for that. I can bully you into watching horror movies whenever I want.”

There’s a beat of silence before he huffs a quiet laugh. “You know, I hate that you’re right.”

“I love that I’m right.”

Steve sighs dramatically. “Fine. But when I get nightmares about shapeshifting aliens, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ll live.”

“Debatable.” Another pause, then his voice softens just slightly. “Robin’s not gonna make it, by the way. She’s got a ‘not-date’ with Vickie.”

That gives you pause.

“So it’s just us,” you say.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “Just us.”

There’s a moment of… something. Not awkwardness, exactly. Just an awareness that wasn’t there before. You glance around the store, suddenly finding it hard to focus on anything. The record stacks, the cheap plastic Valentine’s decorations Jet made you put up, the couple now giggling in the corner near Fleetwood Mac .

“Well, that just means more popcorn for me,” you say, brushing past it.

“And I won’t have to listen to Robin complain about my movie choices.”

“ My movie choices,” you correct.

“Whatever.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “So, uh… you still coming?”

You twirl the phone cord between your fingers, a habit you thought you’d grown out of. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Cool. See you later.”

“See you.”

You hang up, staring at the receiver for a second longer than necessary.

This was fine. Totally normal. Just another movie night.

Right?

---

Steve sighs as he hangs up the phone, rubbing the back of his neck before turning toward the counter—only to find Robin standing there, arms crossed, one brow arched so high it’s practically in her hairline.

He stops short, already exasperated. “Don’t.”

Robin tilts her head, feigning innocence. “Don’t what?”

“ Don’t make it weird.” He gestures vaguely toward the phone, like somehow the conversation itself was to blame for whatever this was.

She scoffs. “Oh, I didn’t make it weird. You did that all on your own.”

Steve groans, rubbing his temples. “Jesus Christ, Robin.”

She just smirks, shifting her weight against the counter. “It’s not my fault you two sound like a couple in a bad rom-com.”

He glares. “It’s your fault for having a date tonight.”

Robin immediately corrects him. “It’s a not-date.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Same difference.”

“Uh, huge difference,” she says. “Dates are romantic. Not-dates are for pretending it’s not romantic while still getting nervous about it.”

He gives her a flat look. “That literally makes no sense.”

Robin shrugs. “Well, good news, dingus—you’ve got a not-date too.”

Steve scoffs, crossing his arms. “It’s not a date.”

Robin just lifts a brow. “That’s what I just said.”

He throws his hands up. “No, I mean—it’s not even a not-date! It’s just a normal night. We watch movies all the time.”

Robin sighs, then pushes off the counter, walking over to him with that look—the one that means she’s about to call him on his bullshit.

“Steve.”

“What?”

She softens just slightly. “You do realize that you two are both my best friends, right?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah?”

“And that I’m not blind?”

He groans. “Robin—”

“I mean, come on.” She starts ticking off fingers, like she’s listing off groceries. “You grab her movies for her even when you think they’re stupid, you call her at work just to talk, you let her make fun of you without even trying to fight back—”

“I fight back,” he protests weakly.

Robin ignores him. “—and, oh yeah, you both spent the last five minutes awkwardly dancing around the fact that you’ll be alone tonight.”

Steve crosses his arms tighter. “So what? It’s not weird to hang out with a friend.”

Robin nods sagely. “Totally. Just a friend.”

“Exactly.”

“Just a friend. On Valentine’s day. that you think is funny and hot and cool and—”

“Okay, I never said that I find her hot.” He throws his head back dramatically. “She’s annoying and bossy and thinks she knows everything—”

Robin hums. “Mmm, yeah. Real convincing, Harrington.”

“—and she’s constantly making fun of my hair—”

Robin shrugs. “You kinda deserve that one.”

“—and she has this stupid little smirk when she’s right about something, and she always has to be right, and when she gets all smug about it, she does this thing where she tilts her head a little, and she has this way of looking at you like she’s three steps ahead in a game you didn’t know you were playing—”

Robin lifts an eyebrow.

Steve doesn’t notice.

“—and she has that voice, you know, like all confident but a little raspy, and when she laughs at something she actually finds funny, not just something dumb Dustin says, it’s, like—”

Robin makes a face. “Steve.”

“—all breathy and warm, and she smells good all the time even when she’s just coming off work, and I don’t know what it is, but it’s like cherry or maybe something floral, but not too much, and—”

“ Steve .”

He finally stops, blinking at her.

Robin stares at him, then slowly grimaces. “You do hear yourself, right?”

Steve pauses. Blinks again. “Shit.”

Robin claps him on the shoulder. “There it is.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She doesn’t even like me like that.”

Robin snorts. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve points a finger at her. “You don’t know that.”

Robin raises both hands in surrender. “Okay. If you say so.” But she’s grinning, and it pisses him off.

Before he can argue, the bell over the door jingles, and a couple walks in, already giggling to each other. Steve immediately straightens up, plastering on his best customer service face.

Robin steps back with a smirk. “Don’t worry, lover boy. We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Steve glares at her as he turns to the customers. “I hate you.”

Robin flashes him a grin. “You love me.”

And unfortunately, she’s right. Again.

---

You hang up the phone, exhaling through your nose, then lean against the counter and let your head fall back, staring up at the ceiling. The sound of a throat clearing makes you lift your head, and when you glance to the side you see your boss, Jet, standing in the doorway of the back office, arms crossed, looking entirely too amused.

"Was that Harrington?" he asks, voice dry as ever.

You roll your eyes and turn away, stacking the pile of records you’d been sorting before Steve called. "No, it was the Pope. He wanted to know if we have any Black Sabbath in stock."

Jet snorts, stepping further into the shop. "So, Harrington."

"Maybe."

Jet leans against the counter, watching you work with that knowing look that always makes you feel like you’re under a microscope. "You two sure do talk a lot."

"Yeah, it’s called friendship, Jet."

"Uh-huh." He tilts his head. "Y’know, back in my day, we didn’t call it friendship when two people made goo-goo eyes at each other across a counter."

You nearly drop the stack of records. "Oh my god, shut up."

Jet just grins. "I’m just sayin’."

You huff and move to the other side of the store, grabbing a rag to wipe down the shelves. The Valentine’s Day display mocks you from the corner, obnoxiously pink and full of records Jet made you pull— Foreigner , REO Speedwagon , Whitney Houston , all the stuff people were eating up today.

"He's annoying," you say, mostly to distract from whatever the hell Jet was implying.

"Sure."

"And bossy."

"Mm-hmm."

"Thinks he knows everything."

Jet makes a vague gesture. "Yeah, yeah, you’re really selling it, kid."

You scowl at him, but Jet just chuckles, watching you scrub furiously at a perfectly clean shelf.

"You know," he says, a little softer, "you don’t gotta dance around it with me. If you like him, you like him. No shame in it."

You pause, grip tightening on the rag. "I don’t."

Jet tilts his head, unconvinced. "Look, all I’m sayin’ is… I’ve been around the block a few times. And I know the look of someone trying real hard to pretend they don’t care about someone when they definitely do."

You set the rag down a little harder than necessary. "And what look is that, exactly?"

Jet just grins. "The same look you get when you talk about him but try to pretend you’re just complaining."

You open your mouth, then close it. Scowl. Pick up the rag again.

Jet chuckles. "Listen, I don’t give a damn one way or the other, but if you wanna keep lying to yourself, at least try to be good at it."

You groan. " Jet ."

"Hey, just giving you some wisdom." He pushes off the counter, stretching. "Y’know, back in the day, I had a girl I danced around with like that. Thought I was bein’ slick, thought no one noticed."

You glance at him, wary. "And?"

"And turns out I was just an idiot," he says with a shrug. "So maybe don’t be an idiot, huh?"

You roll your eyes. "Thanks, dad ."

Jet winks. "Anytime, kid."

---

Steve shuts the register with a satisfying clack and stretches, rolling out the tension in his shoulders. It’s finally closing time, and for once, he’s actually looking forward to tonight—not just because it means getting the hell out of Family Video , but because he has plans.

Casual, totally normal, not-a-date plans.

Robin is watching him, arms crossed, in that ‘I know something you don’t want me to know’ way that makes his skin itch.

He sighs. “Just say it.”

Robin grins. “Say what?”

“You know what.”

“Oh, I was just wondering if you were gonna make a move tonight.”

Steve groans, grabbing his jacket. “Jesus, Robin. Again with this?”

“What?” she says, following him as he grabs the store keys and heads for the back door. “I think it’s a valid question.”

“Well, I think it’s a stupid question.”

Robin shrugs, undeterred. “That’s funny, because you didn’t actually answer it.”

Steve flicks off the lights, plunging the store into dim shadows illuminated only by the neon glow from the sign outside. He turns back to Robin, exasperated. “There’s no move to make.”

Robin smirks, watching as he fumbles a little with the keys. “Uh-huh.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Sure, sure.”

Steve scowls. “You really think I’d make a move?”

Robin shrugs again. “I mean, yeah.”

Steve groans, shoving his arms into his jacket. “Okay, fine, let’s say hypothetically I was gonna make a move. What would that even look like?”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Steve exhales sharply, shaking his head, but then—he starts talking. Slow at first, still pretending this is all theoretical, but then it starts flowing a little too easily.

“Well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, “first of all, I wouldn’t just spring anything on her. She’s not the type you can just, like, surprise with that kind of thing. So I’d make it seem like a regular movie night. No pressure, no expectations. Just us hanging out, watching her dumb horror movies, which—by the way—are not romantic at all, so she wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

Robin hums. “Sly.”

Steve points at her. “Exactly.”

They step outside into the cold night, their breath fogging in the air. Steve locks the door behind them, still talking.

“Then, I’d wait for the right moment. Maybe during The Thing, since she always gets way too focused on the practical effects and starts ranting about how they were done. That’s when I’d sit next to her—real casual, nothing weird. But, like, closer than usual. Just enough to see if she notices.”

Robin leans against the wall, intrigued. “And if she does?”

Steve shrugs, flipping the keys in his hand. “Then I’d play it off, act like it’s no big deal. But if she doesn’t ? That’s when I’d start testing the waters. Maybe during Sleepaway Camp , since she’s seen it a million times and won’t be as locked in. I’d stretch, put my arm on the couch behind her—”

Robin snorts. “The yawn move?”

Steve glares. “No, not the yawn move. Just an arm casually placed behind her. If she leans in, then, boom—I know she’s comfortable with it. And then,” he continues, getting into it now, “if everything feels right, if she’s not pulling away or making fun of me, then I’d make my move.”

Robin crosses her arms. “Which is?”

Steve exhales, eyes flicking upward like he’s playing it out in his head. “I’d wait for the perfect moment. Maybe when she’s talking, because she always talks during horror movies—”

Robin raises an eyebrow. “You like that she talks during movies?”

Steve waves a hand. “That’s not the point. The point is, she gets really into it, and when she’s really into something, she forgets to be sarcastic for, like, a whole second. So while she’s mid-sentence, I’d just… shift toward her, lean in a little, make sure she notices before I do anything.”

Robin watches him, interested now. “And then?”

Steve tilts his head slightly, picturing it.

“And then,” he says, voice softer, “I’d go for it. Just—slow, you know? Like, give her the chance to pull away, but hoping she doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t make it some big thing, no cheesy lines, nothing rehearsed. Just… see what happens.”

Robin stares at him for a second. Then makes a face.

“Okay, ew,” she says. “Reel it in, Romeo.”

Steve blinks. “What?”

“You were getting way too into that.”

Steve scowls. “I was just answering your question.”

Robin smirks. “Oh, you so weren’t. That was not hypothetical. That was a step-by-step plan.”

Steve huffs. “It was a theoretical —”

“You definitely have thought about this before.”

Steve groans, rubbing his hands over his face. “Robin—”

“You even mapped out the exact movie timing—”

“Shut up.”

“You are so nervous.”

“I am not—”

“Hey, what are you guys talking about?”

---

You’re walking toward Steve and Robin, hands shoved into your jacket pockets, head tilted slightly in curiosity. You glance between the two of them, your eyes narrowing ever so slightly, like you just walked in on the tail end of something you weren’t supposed to hear.

Steve immediately panics. “Why are you here?”

You blink. “Uh… hello to you too?”

He clears his throat, scrambling to backtrack. “I just—I thought we were meeting at my house.”

You shrug. “Eddie’s still working on my car, so I figured I’d just come straight here.”

Steve nods a little too fast. “Right. Cool. Yeah.”

Robin, who had been standing beside him with a smirk so smug it could power Hawkins for a week, is now outright grinning. She’s practically vibrating with barely restrained laughter.

Your eyes flick between them again. “What?”

Robin doesn’t answer. Instead, she turns to Steve with a knowing smile. “Well, I’m off to my not-date . Wish me luck.”

Your brow furrows. “Good luck?”

Robin winks—not at you, but at Steve. “You too.”

Steve glares at her. “Robin.”

She just grins wider and gives him a two-fingered salute before turning on her heel and heading off down the sidewalk, leaving you standing there with an eyebrow raised.

You shift your weight onto one foot, watching her go before turning back to Steve. “Okay, what was that?”

He shakes his head way too quickly. “Nothing. Just—nothing.”

You don’t buy it for a second. But whatever that was, Steve clearly isn’t going to spill, so you let it slide. For now.

You exhale, rocking back on your heels. “Alright, weirdo.”

Steve shifts awkwardly, clearing his throat. “You ready?”

You nod.

“Cool,” he says, fumbling for his keys like his hands suddenly forgot how to function.

Without another word, you both head to his car.

Once you’re at his house, Steve pushes the front door open first, stepping inside and flicking on the lights without a second thought. You follow behind him, toeing off your shoes as the familiar silence of the Harrington house settles around you.

As usual, the place is empty.

“Where are your parents this time?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Steve snorts, tossing his keys onto the hallway table. “No idea. They left a note on the fridge, but I didn’t read it.”

You roll your eyes, unsurprised. “So, what? Business trip? Spa retreat? Another month of pretending they don’t have a son?”

“Something like that,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Not like it matters.”

It’s not like you’ve been here a ton, but every time you have been, it’s been the same—big house, too much space, and no parents in sight. Just Steve, filling the empty rooms with music or movies, like background noise could make up for the lack of anyone actually being home.

You don’t push it. Instead, you drop your bag on the couch and walk straight to the TV, glancing over your shoulder. “Movies?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got ‘em. You set up, I’ll grab snacks.”

You flip through the stack of VHS tapes he brought home from Family Video .

“You actually grabbed all the ones I asked for?” You sound surprised.

Steve scoffs, walking past you toward the kitchen. “You don’t pay me enough to improvise.”

“I don’t pay you.”

“Exactly.”

---

Steve tells himself he isn’t nervous.

He tells himself this as he unlocks the door, steps inside, and watches as you walk in after him, dropping your bag on the couch like you belong here. Which, in a way, you do.

He’s not nervous.

It’s just a normal movie night. Just like all the others.

Except it isn’t.

Because tonight, he has a plan.

A foolproof, step-by-step, can’t-go-wrong plan—one he stupidly let Robin in on, which means there is no backing out now. She’ll ask about it later, and if he tells her he chickened out, she’ll never let him live it down.

So he’s doing this.

…Right?

This is fine. If he just acts normal, you won’t suspect a thing. He pours the popcorn, pops open a couple of sodas, and grabs a bag of chips for good measure. When he comes back into the living room, you’re already loading The Thing into the VCR.

Steve watches you from the doorway for a second. The way you move so easily in his space. The way you don’t hesitate, like it’s your house too.

And yeah. Fuck . He wants this.

He clears his throat and heads to the couch, dropping down beside you—closer than usual.

You don’t say anything.

Step One: Close the Distance.

Easy.

Done.

You didn’t call him out on it, which means he’s in the clear.

The movie starts, and you sink into it, fully focused by the time the sled dog is sprinting through the snow, the helicopter in pursuit.

Steve lets himself relax. Just a little.

Step Two: Casual Arm Placement.

He waits. Gives it time.

You’re locked into the movie, already muttering something under your breath about the brilliance of practical effects. You do that a lot—talk through horror movies, not in a bad way, but in a way that shows how much you actually care about them.

Steve listens, nodding like he’s paying attention to what you’re saying, but really, he’s timing it.

Then, casually, effortlessly, he stretches, letting his arm fall across the back of the couch.

Not touching you. Just there. Close enough to be felt but not enough to be anything.

You don’t react.

So far, so good.

Steve suppresses a smirk. See, Robin? I got this.

Step Three: The Lean-In.

This one is trickier.

It has to be subtle . Smooth.

He waits again, watches as you settle further into the cushions, legs curled up beneath you, completely lost in the movie. That’s when he shifts—barely, just enough to angle himself toward you. Just enough to close the gap a little more.

Still, no reaction.

That’s either a really good thing or a really bad thing.

He reminds himself of the plan.

Wait until Sleepaway Camp for the next move. That’s when he’d test the waters, when you wouldn’t be as focused, when he could ease into it without making it weird.

But then you glance at him, just for a second, and something about the way you look—eyes slightly narrowed, like you noticed but aren’t saying anything—makes his stomach flip.

Fuck it.

Maybe he doesn’t want to wait.

You’re completely locked in when the scene shifts to the research station, the dog curling up in the kennel with the other huskies. It’s the moment before all hell breaks loose, the moment before the thing reveals itself.

It’s perfect.

Steve watches your profile, the way your eyes flick between the screen and your soda as you reach for it.

This is it.

This is the moment.

He turns toward you, leans in slightly, ready to shift even closer.

And then, of course, everything goes to shit.

Disaster: The Soda Incident.

He reaches for his drink at the exact same time you do.

Your hands knock together.

Oh, fuck.

Cold liquid spills all over your shirt.

You gasp, jerking upright as the icy soda soaks through your clothes.

“Shit—”

Steve freezes. Stares. His brain short-circuits.

This was not part of the plan. Not even close.

“Fuck—hold on—” He scrambles to set his drink down, moving fast like he can somehow reverse time and undo the absolute catastrophe he just caused. “Shit, shit, shit. I—I’ll grab a towel—just—shit—hang on!”

He bolts up so fast he nearly knocks over the popcorn bowl, tripping over the coffee table in his rush.

You’re just sitting there, stunned, dripping soda onto the couch, blinking at him like you can’t believe what just happened.

The movie keeps playing in the background, oblivious to the fucking disaster unfolding in real life.

Steve disappears down the hall, heart pounding, and he knows—

Yeah.

This definitely didn’t go according to plan.

---

You sit there, staring down at yourself, blinking at the damp fabric clinging to your chest.

What the hell just happened?

One second, you were watching the movie, minding your own business, and the next—Steve fucking Harrington managed to dump an entire soda all over you like some teenage rom-com protagonist who can’t keep his hands to himself.

Except this isn’t a movie, and Steve is currently gone, having bolted from the room like the place was on fire.

You exhale, peeling the wet fabric away from your skin, grimacing at the way the cold sticks to you. From somewhere in the house, you hear the telltale signs of Steve running around in a panic. Footsteps pounding up the stairs. The sound of a cabinet slamming. A muffled curse. Footsteps back down the stairs, faster this time, followed by another thud and another round of cursing.

Then silence.

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably, and just as you’re about to get up and find a towel yourself, Steve comes jogging back into the living room.

He’s got a hand towel in one hand and a shirt in the other, looking a little too disheveled for someone who was gone for all of thirty seconds.

“Okay, here—” he starts, reaching out with the towel.

And then he stops.

You blink at him. He blinks at you.

Because, yeah. If he was actually going to clean you up, that would mean touching your chest.

Steve goes bright red. “Right. Shit. Here—just—take it.”

He thrusts the towel at you, along with the shirt, and you grab them both, giving him a look.

“Yeah, genius. Didn’t really think that one through, did you?”

Steve groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I was panicking!”

“No shit.”

You push yourself off the couch, the wet fabric sticking uncomfortably as you shift. “Gonna go change.”

He nods quickly, eyes locked very purposefully on anything but you as you walk past him and down the hall toward the bathroom.

You shut the door behind you and sigh, shaking your head.

Steve had been weird all night. Fidgety. Kind of jumpy. Not normal.

And this? This had to be a new record for him in terms of absolute dumbassery.

You grab the bottom of your shirt, pulling it off with a wince, already shivering slightly as the air hits your skin. Then, you look at the shirt he gave you.

It’s not one of his polos or his sweaters—it’s a T-shirt, old and worn, with the faded logo of the Hawkins High basketball team across the front.

You snort. King Steve in his prime.

The fabric is soft, smelling like detergent and him, and when you pull it on, it’s tight. Not uncomfortably so, but enough that it stretches a little over your chest, fitting snug around your torso in a way that most of your own shirts don’t.

Great.

You shake your head and step back out, making your way to the living room.

Steve is at the VCR when you return, swapping out the tape for Sleepaway Camp , his back to you.

He glances over his shoulder when he hears you come in, eyes flicking down to his shirt on you before darting back up to your face.

“Uh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Again.”

You shrug. “It’s cool, this is how most guys try to get me out of my clothes.”

Steve chokes.

Like, actually chokes.

“…Okay,” you say slowly, watching him. “That was a joke.”

Steve shakes his head so fast you think he might snap his own neck and you narrow your eyes. Something is off with him. But you let it slide, stepping back toward the couch as he finishes setting up the movie.

When he sits down again, he leaves a little more space between you this time, but you don’t comment on it. The movie starts, the opening credits rolling, and as the familiar music kicks in, you shake your head.

Steve Harrington is acting weird as hell tonight.

---

Steve is reeling.

He never fucks up like that.

Sure, yeah, maybe he’s been in a bit of a dry spell lately. Maybe he hasn’t had as many dates as he used to. Maybe he’s been selective (Robin’s word, not his) about who he flirts with. But when he does?

This is the part he’s good at.

The easy charm, the confidence, the effortless way he makes a girl laugh and then smoothly inches closer—that has always been his thing.

But this? This was a fucking disaster.

It has to be a sign that this was a bad idea, that Robin got into his head and made him think there was something here when there wasn’t.

Because if there was, he wouldn’t have botched it so badly. He wouldn’t have dumped a fucking drink all over you like a nervous wreck. Wouldn’t be sitting here now, stiff and awkward, trying way too hard to act like nothing happened.

He flicks a glance at you, at the way you’re curled up on the couch, adjusting yourself in his old Hawkins basketball T-shirt.

And—fuck.

The thing about that shirt?

It was his from junior year.

Which means it used to fit him.

Which means, on you, it’s tight .

Steve swallows hard and yanks his gaze back to the screen before his mind can wander any further.

Platonic. Just friends, Harrington. And friends don’t look at their friends’ boobs in a too-small shirt and think about—

He shoves the thought down so hard it practically leaves skid marks in his brain.

Instead, he focuses on the movie.

Sleepaway Camp isn’t a great distraction—it’s weird, and dumb, and kind of awful in the best way—but it’s what’s on.

You talk through it, like you always do, making the occasional joke, sometimes pointing out a particularly bad effect or cheesy dialogue.

Steve answers, strictly platonically.

He ignores any comment that could be vaguely sexual, even when you joke about the guys’ ridiculously short shorts or when you outright laugh at the worst attempt at seduction in cinematic history. Normally, he’d engage—he’d throw something back, tease, maybe flirt just for the hell of it.

Tonight, though, he forces himself to keep it neutral.

Because the more he thinks about what almost happened—the way he was about to go for it, the way he was about to shift even closer—the more his stomach twists.

The movie ends, and Steve is way too quick to jump up.

“Want another drink?” he asks, already halfway to the kitchen.

You nod, stretching as you get up to swap the tapes. “Yeah, sure.”

Steve heads to the fridge, grabs the handle, and—

---

You’re kneeling in front of the VCR, sliding My Bloody Valentine into place, when you hear Steve’s footsteps behind you.

“No more soda,” he announces like it’s a death sentence, hands perched on his hips. “I got, uh—water, orange juice, milk—”

You pause, turning to look at him. “Milk?”

Steve throws his hands up like that’s somehow your fault. “I don’t know, I’m just listing shit. We’ve got juice boxes if you wanna feel like a kid again.”

You roll your eyes, but the second he says it, an idea sparks in your head. You glance at the TV, then back at Steve, then at the couch, where the remnants of the soda disaster still linger. Tonight’s already off the rails, so why not lean into it?

“Why don’t we just make it a drinking game?”

Steve blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

“Come on, we’ve done drinking games before.”

“Yeah, but that’s when there’s more people.”

You narrow your eyes, tilting your head slightly. “And?”

Steve opens his mouth, then stops. He looks at you, thinking, probably trying to come up with a reason why that matters, why it’s somehow different when it’s just the two of you. But he doesn’t have one. Instead, he lets out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, okay, I guess that doesn’t actually matter.”

You smirk, victorious, and push yourself up from the floor. You don’t know why he’s hesitating. It’s not like this is some big deal. It’s just a stupid drinking game to go with a stupid horror movie on a stupid holiday. It’s a way to make the night a little more fun, a little less whatever the hell this has been so far.

Steve still looks skeptical, like he’s waiting for some reason to say no, so you press on before he can talk himself out of it.

“We’re both alone on Valentine’s Day,” you say, watching his expression carefully. “Everyone else is out on their dumb dates, drinking their dumb fancy wine, eating overpriced chocolate, being all lovey-dovey. And we’re here, watching horror movies and trying not to spill anything else on my shirt.”

Steve lets out a quiet laugh through his nose, shaking his head.

Encouraged, you keep going. “For once, we don’t have to deal with interdimensional bullshit, no creepy government guys, no nightmare monsters from hell. Just a normal, boring, stupid romantic holiday that we’re stuck spending alone.”

He huffs, crossing his arms. “So, your grand plan is to drink through the pain?”

You shrug. “We deserve a night of dumb, normal young people shit.”

It’s only when you say it out loud that you realize how true it is. You’ve spent so much of the last couple of years dealing with things that no one your age should have to deal with. Near-death experiences, government cover-ups, missing people, watching friends suffer and not being able to do anything about it. It’s been a lot, and maybe it’s selfish, but you just want one night that feels easy.

Steve is quiet, considering. You step closer, just enough to reach out and clap a hand on his shoulder, half in encouragement, half in challenge.

“Come on, Harrington. It’s one night. What’s the worst that could happen?”

For a second, he just looks at you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place, something unreadable behind those brown eyes. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll go grab something my parents won’t miss.”

---

Steve comes back into the living room, bottle in one hand, glasses in the other, expecting to see you on the couch where he left you. Instead, you’re sitting on the floor, pillows propped against the coffee table, legs stretched out, completely at ease like this is just how movie nights are supposed to be.

He stops short, eyeing you with confusion. “What are you doing?”

You glance up at him, completely unfazed. “It’s more fun this way.”

Steve squints. “Sitting on the floor ?”

“Yeah.” You pat the space next to you, smirking. “Come on, try it.”

He sighs but doesn’t argue, lowering himself down beside you, setting the bottle and glasses on the floor. His knees knock against yours briefly as he gets comfortable, and for some reason, that small, barely-there contact sends a little jolt through him. He ignores it, grabs the bottle, and tilts it in your direction.

“Alright,” he says, twisting off the cap, “rules.”

You hum in thought. “Okay, obviously, we drink every time someone dies.”

“Obviously.”

“Drink every time someone says ‘Valentine.’”

Steve snorts. “This is My Bloody Valentine , we’re gonna die.”

“That’s the point.” You grin and hold up a finger. “Drink when someone does something really fucking stupid, like running upstairs instead of outside.”

“Classic.” He pours your glass, then his, setting the bottle aside. “What about drink if you get spooked?”

You narrow your eyes. “You just want an excuse to make me drink more.”

He grins, bumping his knee against yours. “Gotta level the playing field somehow.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. “Fine. And… drink if there’s a sex scene.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You just made that one up.”

“Maybe.”

“You so did.”

You smirk. “It’s still a good rule.”

He shakes his head, but his smile lingers as he lifts his glass. “Alright, to terrible horror movies and drinking games.”

You clink your glass against his, and with that, the game begins.

Two-thirds of the way through the movie, and you’re both comfortably tipsy. Not drunk, but warm, relaxed, feeling looser, laughter coming easier.

At some point, Steve stopped noticing when your knee brushed against his. He didn’t think much of it when your arm pressed against his as you reached for your glass. Didn’t acknowledge the way you shifted slightly, leaning more into him as you adjusted yourself on the pillow, both of you sinking deeper into the comfort of the moment.

But now?

Now, he notices.

His focus snaps to the way your thigh is flush against his, how your elbow nudges his arm when you gesture toward the screen, still mid-rant about the practical effects.

And suddenly, it sobers him up just a little.

Not enough to stop enjoying himself, but enough to remember.

The plan.

The one he’d botched spectacularly earlier when he panicked like a fucking idiot and spilled soda all over you. He should have waited for the right moment, should have followed through exactly the way he told Robin he would.

But maybe this is the moment.

He watches you as you talk, completely wrapped up in explaining why this particular death scene is underrated. Your eyes are bright, hands moving as you emphasize certain points, and you’re not filtering yourself the way you sometimes do. This is that window—where you’re passionate, where your guard is down, where you aren’t trying to be anything other than exactly you.

And you look so fucking pretty.

His chest tightens.

He doesn’t think. Doesn’t overanalyze. He just goes for it.

His hand moves before he can stop it, reaching up to cup your face, fingers brushing along the curve of your jaw. Your words falter, breath catching, eyes flicking to his in startled confusion, but you don’t pull away.

And then he’s leaning in, closing the space between you, pressing his lips to yours.

It’s soft, tentative but steady, warm in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol. His thumb strokes lightly along your cheek, grounding himself, savoring the way your lips part slightly, like you weren’t expecting this but aren’t against it either.

You don’t pull away.

You don’t pull away.

It’s a slow, lingering kiss, the kind that feels like it’s meant to happen, like it’s been waiting to happen. The kind that shifts something in the air, something unspoken but undeniable.

When he finally leans back, just enough to look at you, he searches your face, breath unsteady.

And for the first time all night, you’re speechless.

---

You stare at him.

For a full minute, maybe longer.

The kiss still lingers, warm on your lips, your brain lagging behind, trying to catch up with the reality of what just happened. Steve watches you like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to freak out, maybe for you to say something, anything.

And eventually, you do.

“What—” You shake your head, eyes narrowing slightly. “What the hell was that?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, you cut him off.

“Wait, no. You’re drunk.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re drunk, and you’re feeling weird about Valentine’s Day, and you were caught up in the moment—”

“I—”

“We’ve been drinking, and you’re—”

“Jesus, would you let me—”

You’re still talking, half-rambling, voice layered with that dry disbelief you always get when shit blindsides you, and Steve, clearly realizing that you’re just gonna keep going, shakes your shoulder a little. Not hard, just enough to jolt you.

You stop. Blink.

He exhales. “I did it because I wanted to.”

Your stomach does something stupid and traitorous at that, but you shove it down, tilting your head slightly, giving him the flattest expression you can manage.

“Okay,” you say. “Well. Now you have.”

Silence settles between you. Not uncomfortable, but something. You’re still way too aware of the fact that his hand was on your face, that his lips were on yours, that you let him do it.

And worse—you kissed him back.

Steve shifts beside you, turning his attention to the movie, but his voice is softer when he says, “For the record, you kissed me back.”

You don’t respond. You just keep watching, your heart pounding way too hard for something as simple as sitting next to him. Your brain spins, trying to process the entire situation, trying to put all the little pieces together, trying to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do with this new information.

And then, for some reason, you look at him.

Like, really look at him.

He’s still staring at the screen, trying to act normal, and to the average person, he probably looks normal. But you know him better than that. You’ve spent too much time around him not to pick up on the small tells—the way his jaw is a little tighter than usual, the way he shifts slightly like he’s trying not to fidget, the way his fingers tap lightly against his knee. He’s trying to keep his cool, trying to play this off like it isn’t a big deal.

And now, you can’t stop noticing things.

The two beauty marks on the side of his neck, just under his jaw. The way the glow of the TV flickers against his skin. The shape of his mouth, the way his lips look softer in this lighting, the way his eyes shift when something catches his attention on screen. The way his arms look in that stupid polo shirt, his biceps just defined enough that—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shake yourself out of it, tearing your eyes away, trying to breathe properly again.

And then—like puzzle pieces clicking together—your brain finally catches up. The closeness, the arm around the back of the couch, the spilled soda. You turn to him, narrowing your eyes, and before you can stop yourself, you smack his arm.

He flinches, looking at you, completely caught off guard. “What the hell?”

“You planned this.”

Steve’s face does this weird thing—half shock, half shit, I’ve been caught —before he recovers, shaking his head. “What? No.”

You stare at him.

“Steve.”

He doesn’t say anything and you raise an eyebrow, waiting.

He shifts, clears his throat, and you see it all over his face—he’s absolutely about to try and deflect.

And then, just as he’s about to speak, you say his name again.

“Steve.”

And just like that, he freezes.

---

Steve feels cornered.

And not in a bad way, necessarily, but in a ‘shit, there’s nowhere to run and I’ve already been caught’ kind of way. You’re looking at him, waiting, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, the full force of your glare locked in.

And Steve—Steve does what he does best in moments of extreme pressure.

He rambles.

“If I planned this, it wouldn’t have gone so disastrously,” he starts, gesturing wildly like that’ll somehow help his case. “Like, this is the part I’m usually good at, okay? The flirting, the—moves, the whole making-it-seem-effortless thing. You know, the part where I don’t look like a complete idiot and spill an entire drink on you like I’ve never spoken to a girl before.”

You don’t say anything. You just raise an eyebrow, completely unimpressed.

Steve exhales, shaking his head. “And, honestly? It’s kind of your fault.”

That makes you blink.

“My fault?”

“Yeah, because you—you throw me off!” He gestures at you like that’s an obvious answer, like that explains anything. “You’re always making these stupid jokes, and you’re too quick, and you make fun of me before I can make fun of myself, and you never let me get away with anything. It’s—”

His mouth keeps running. His brain catches up about three sentences too late.

“—it’s really annoying, except it’s not, because I actually kinda—”

Steve stops mid-sentence, everything catching up with him at once.

Fuck.

You tilt your head, waiting.

He swallows, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I’m an idiot.”

You hum. “Yeah, but I already knew that.”

Steve lets out a short, almost nervous laugh before dragging a hand through his hair. “Okay, listen. That wasn’t—I didn’t mean it’s actually your fault. That was—I’m sorry, that was just me being defensive, and that was a dick thing to say.”

You nod slowly, clearly waiting for the rest.

He sighs, looking at the ceiling for a second before bringing his gaze back to you. “Robin put this thought in my head. I mean, she’s been putting this thought in my head. Since, like, the second I met her at Scoops.”

You don’t look surprised.

He shakes his head. “But if I’m being completely honest, it was already there.”

That’s when you stop him.

“Of course she did.” You sigh, rubbing your temple like this is something you’ve been expecting.

Steve frowns. “Wait—what do you mean of course she did?”

You hesitate, shifting your weight slightly before reluctantly admitting, “Because she’s been saying the same things to me for months.”

Steve blinks. That is not what he expected you to say.

It takes him a second to process, but when it clicks, when he realizes what you just admitted, his mouth stretches into a slow, growing grin.

“Wait.” He points at you. “Are you saying you like like me?”

Your entire face shifts into the most unamused expression he’s ever seen.

“Did you just say like like ?”

“Yeah.”

You narrow your eyes. “How old are you?”

“Okay, what about fancy me?” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Sweet on me?”

“Oh my god.”

“Got a little crush on me?”

“Steve.”

“Are you pining over me?”

You groan, shaking your head. “I refuse to answer if you keep saying it like that.”

Steve leans in slightly, tilting his head. “Not answering kinda is an answer.”

You look at him, lips pressing into a thin line, but you don’t pull away.

And that’s when something in him shifts.

For once, he stops talking. Stops trying to play it off, stops trying to dance around it, stops deflecting. He just watches you, watches the way your expression flickers—sharp one second, a little softer the next, like you’re not quite sure where this is going.

And then, quieter than before, he says, “How do you actually feel?”

You inhale. Exhale. Then, with the kind of reluctance that makes his heart beat just a little faster, you start listing.

“Despite the fact that you’re ridiculous.”

He grins.

“Despite the fact that you’re a little too cocky sometimes.”

“Objectively false.”

You roll your eyes.

“Despite the fact that you’re an idiot who spilled an entire soda on me.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that was bad.”

You pause, hesitating, but then, softer, you add, “Despite all of that… I still like being around you. More than I should.”

Steve swallows. “Yeah?”

You nod once. “Yeah.”

Something settles in his chest.

He exhales, gaze flicking down to your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again, smirking a little. “So, theoretically,” he starts, tilting his head, “if I wanted to kiss you again, would I still be at risk of getting punched, or…”

You roll your eyes, but there’s something there now, something warmer, something less guarded.

So Steve doesn’t wait for an answer.

He just leans in and kisses you again.

This time, it’s different.

The first kiss had been tentative, careful, almost testing the waters. But this one—this is something else entirely. This one is lingering, deeper, his hand sliding along your jaw again, the warmth of his palm grounding you as his lips part against yours.

The shift is slow but undeniable—the way his fingers slide back into your hair, the way he tilts his head just enough to deepen it, the way your hand moves, resting lightly against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re steadying yourself.

Steve barely has time to think—barely has time to do anything other than sink into you—before the next thought crosses his mind.

Holy shit. This is actually happening.

He smiles against your mouth and feels the corner of your lips curve upward.

When you finally lean back, it takes a second for his brain to catch up, his eyes opening, his breath coming in unsteady, shallow waves. He stares at you, the way the glow of the TV dances against your skin, the way the softness in your eyes matches the one in his chest, the way his hands are still cupping your face, his fingers threaded through your hair.

He exhales, letting his forehead rest against yours.

And then, without thinking, he says the first thing that comes to mind.

"Wanna be my Valentine?"

You snort.

You literally snort.

"That was so lame," you mutter, pulling back enough to look at him, laughing a little. "Seriously, Harrington?"

He shrugs. "So?"

"So, you missed it. Valentine's Day technically ended like an hour ago."

"Yeah." Steve pauses, thinking. Then, "We can do better next year."

Your stomach does a fucking somersault.

"Next year?"

"Yeah." He's got that dumb, boyish grin again, the one that makes his eyes bright and that's simultaneously too much and not enough. "I can take you out. Somewhere nicer than just my living room, somewhere where we're both not covered in soda. We can dress up, make a real thing of it. Maybe dinner, maybe a movie, maybe the stupid arcade."

"You hate the arcade."

"Not the point."

You huff a quiet laugh. "And what about the year after that?"

"Ah, see that's the year we get really crazy. We take a vacation, maybe road trip to Chicago, rent a hotel room for the weekend."

"A hotel room, huh?"

"Yeah, and we can have a fancy dinner at a nice restaurant. One with tablecloths and candles and everything."

You narrow your eyes slightly, watching him. "So, basically, you're planning a bunch of cliche, classic Valentine's dates."

"Basically."

"Like we're a couple."

"Like we're a couple." He nods.

"And you want to keep doing this for years?"

"And I want to keep doing this for years."

Steve looks so certain, so unbothered by the fact that he just threw out the words 'for years' like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like it's a promise, a guarantee. And when you see the way his gaze softens, the way his eyes flick between yours, the way his expression goes a little more serious, you realize—

That's exactly what he's doing.

You swallow, looking at him, and then, slowly, you ask, "Why?"

"Because I'm an idiot."

You roll your eyes.

"Because I'm an idiot," he amends, "who's liked you for way too long, and I've just been trying not to notice it."

"Steve—"

"And because I know I've made a lot of mistakes, okay?" He pauses, exhaling a little shakily. "Like, a lot of mistakes. But the biggest mistake would be not going for this, not seeing where it could go."

You shake your head, your heart beating way too fast.

"Steve," you say, "we've only kissed twice."

"Yeah, and?"

"And... it's been twenty minutes."

"And?"

You let out a small, exasperated laugh, looking at him like he's insane. "It's been twenty minutes."

"Listen," he starts, and the fact that he's using the exact same tone of voice as you, the one where he's trying to argue, the one where he's determined and stubborn and refusing to back down, makes something in your chest shift.

He reaches for your hands, lacing his fingers with yours.

"There is a lot of shit we've had to deal with. A lot of crazy, unbelievable shit. But this is something I know, okay? This is something I'm sure about. So, maybe we go into it too fast, and maybe we take our time, and maybe we try a few things and figure out what works. But I don't care."

Steve squeezes your hands gently.

"We've spent the last three years dealing with monsters and evil Russians and upside-down hellscapes, and the second I got to kiss you, the second I got to actually act on the thing I've wanted for way too long, I didn't think about any of that. I didn't think about the fact that the world is probably gonna keep fucking us over. I didn't think about all the reasons why this wouldn't work or why we shouldn't be doing this. I didn't think about the risks or the bullshit. I didn't even think about the fact that I'm supposed to be spending Valentine's Day alone. I just..."

He stops, his breath catching a little.

"I just felt it. The way it made me feel. The way I just want to keep doing it, again and again. And the fact that I know, I fucking know, we're gonna have to deal with a lot more weird shit before we can even begin to be normal, I'm not worried. Because at the end of the day, if you're there, then everything else doesn't matter."

And with that, the last of your defenses crumble.

You stare at him. At this ridiculous, self-proclaimed idiot, with his perfect hair and his pretty smile and his dumb, charming confidence.

At Steve Harrington, the guy who used to be the most annoying, egotistical prick you'd ever met.

At the guy who's become one of the best people you've ever known.

At the guy who is, somehow, right now, here, saying all the right things.

"Shit," you mutter. "You're making it really hard not to fall in love with you."

Steve grins, and then, the absolute bastard, leans in.

"Then stop trying."

He kisses you again.

You feel it everywhere—in the way his mouth slides against yours, warm and inviting, the way his fingers tangle into your hair, the way he pulls you closer.

Your fingers curl into his polo, gripping tightly as you shift closer, and Steve groans against your mouth, his hands sliding to your waist like he can’t not touch you now. The warmth of your body pressed against his is enough to make him lightheaded, the scent of your shampoo mingling with the faint whiskey on your breath making his head swim.

His hands start to move without thinking, fingertips tracing over the fabric of your shirt—his shirt—feeling the heat of your skin underneath. You gasp softly, and Steve nearly loses his mind right there. He has to pull back, has to take a breath before he does something completely reckless, but even then, his forehead stays pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“Bedroom?” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

You nod. “Yeah.”

That’s all he needs.

Steve gets up first, pulling you with him, hands firm on your waist as he steadies you. You both stumble slightly, tipsy but nowhere near drunk, laughing under your breath as you navigate through the house. It’s not far—just up the stairs, past the stupid family portraits his parents insist on keeping up despite never being here.

And then, finally, his room.

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing you both in, the soft glow from outside casting long shadows across his walls.

And then, Steve is on you again.

He doesn’t hesitate this time, doesn’t second-guess himself as his hands find your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as he kisses you like he’s been waiting to do this forever. Like he’s scared it might slip away if he doesn’t hold onto it.

The backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed, and you sink down, pulling him with you. Steve follows, pressing you down gently, settling between your legs as he leans in, his lips never leaving yours.

His hands start to wander, slow, exploring—mapping you out like he wants to memorize every dip and curve. And god, you’re soft. So warm, so right against him.

 His mind is already racing, imagining every place his lips could follow, every inch of skin he could trace, every way he could make you melt into him.

Your own hands roam, sliding down his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Steve leans back, just enough to let you pull it off, the cool air hitting his skin making him shiver. His chest is exposed, his hair a little messy, his arms flexing slightly as he props himself up, and the sight is enough to make you pause.

Steve smirks, catching you.

But instead of teasing, he leans down, kissing along your jaw, his voice low and soft as he murmurs, "My turn."

Steve teases the hem of the shirt he let you borrow. You sit up a little and he starts to lift it up over your chest, but it's a tight fit and it gets stuck. You're about ready to have him just rip it off at this point, but when he speaks, his voice is soft and gentle and his breath is hot on your skin and all the words die on your tongue.

"Hold your arms up, okay?"

You obey, raising your arms and letting him slide the shirt off. He tosses it on the floor and you shiver at the sudden cold, but it's quickly forgotten as Steve looks down at you.

"Fuck."

The word slips out of his mouth before he can stop it. His eyes drink you in, trailing over the swell of your breasts in your bra, the smooth skin, the curve of your waist, and suddenly, he's overwhelmed.

"So you don't think I'm like, a total perv, I didn't think that shirt would be that... snug when I grabbed it. So, uh, sorry, but I'm also not complaining, because you have a really great—shit, what was I saying?"

"Shut up, Harrington," you mutter, grabbing his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

He chuckles against your lips, then shifts.

Steve starts slow, his mouth tracing a line down the side of your neck. He pauses, sucks at the hollow of your throat, feels the way your breath hitches when his teeth graze over the delicate skin. Your fingers card through his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and the sensation is enough to make him shudder, a quiet groan slipping out.

Then, he moves lower, lips pressing a kiss in the space between your breasts. His hands trace over the tops of them, then down, cupping you, feeling the weight, thumbs swiping along the edge of your bra. You sigh, arching into him, and it takes every ounce of control not to lose it right there.

Steve leans back, eyes meeting yours, silently asking permission.

You nod, and he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with a little more ease than expected. When he slides it off, his eyes flick down to the newly exposed skin, and you swear you hear his breath hitch.

Then, his mouth is on you, and all rational thought leaves your brain.

Steve knows his way around a girl's body.

But right now? With you?

It's like starting from square one.

Because right now, everything is heightened. Every noise you make, every little gasp and moan, every hitch of your breath, every brush of your skin against his. It's enough to drive him absolutely insane, enough to make him lose focus, and when he feels you shift underneath him, when he sees the way you look up at him, his mouth still wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently, he feels that familar tug in his stomach.

It's that same feeling—the one he can't shake, the one he can't get rid of, the one that has him thinking thoughts like 'fuck, she's so pretty' and 'holy shit, I really like her' and 'god, this is gonna ruin me, isn't it?'

But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, he can't stop.

You're arching into him, fingers buried in his hair, tugging lightly, and the sound that slips out when he scrapes his teeth lightly is enough to make his cock twitch. His mouth trails lower, over your stomach, kissing along your hipbones, and he's moving faster now, impatient, hands sliding to the button of your jeans.

He hesitates, just for a second, looking up at you.

"Is this okay?"

You nod, swallowing, and Steve's hands move. He undoes the button, slides the zipper down, and hooks his fingers into the sides. He doesn't wait for a response this time—he yanks, hard, and the sound that slips out is one part surprised, one part pleased, and it's so fucking hot that he can't stand it.

Once they're off, he looks at you, taking a second to breathe, to appreciate how fucking gorgeous you look, laid out on his bed in nothing but a pair of panties. Then, his gaze trails lower, and he sees the wet spot on the fabric, and it hits him.

Fuck, you're soaked.

He exhales sharply, his eyes flicking up to yours. "Holy shit."

"Yeah." Your voice is breathy, a little embarrassed, but there's something there, too. Something needy, something desperate.

"Do you have any idea," Steve says, leaning over you again, "how long I've wanted to see you like this?"

His hand slides down, palming you through the fabric, and when he rubs lightly, your entire body shudders.

"See, this?" He rubs a little harder, the fabric of your panties sliding against your clit. "This is my new favorite thing."

You gasp, arching into him.

Steve keeps going, rubbing you through the thin layer of cotton, watching the way your hips lift into his hand. He presses a kiss to your jaw, then to your neck, sucking lightly, and then, without warning, he slides off your panties and his fingers are back on you. 

"Fuck," he groans, feeling the heat, the wetness coating his fingers. "So fucking wet, baby."

His voice is lower than before, the pet name slipping out without thinking, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to start fucking his fingers into you. Instead, he teases, sliding his fingers, feeling the slickness, the way your breath catches when his thumb circles around your clit.

And then, he dips a finger inside.

You let out a low moan, a sound that has his cock twitching again, and the urge to just bury himself in you and fuck until neither of you can breathe is almost overwhelming. But he doesn't. He doesn't rush it.

Instead, he keeps going.

"This is what I'd think about," he says, adding a second finger. "When I would lay here, at night, after I was done talking to you."

You don't say anything, too focused on the feeling, but he knows you're listening. He kisses down your neck, fingers moving slowly, curling inside of you, his palm brushing over your clit, and then, when he adds a third finger, the stretch is enough to make your brain short-circuit.

"I'd be in bed, alone, and all I could think about was this." His voice is rougher now, the way you're squeezing around his fingers driving him insane. "What you would look like, how you'd feel, how you'd taste."

Steve picks up the pace, thrusting a little harder, his fingers curling, finding that spot, and the whimper that escapes is the hottest fucking thing he's ever heard. He's fully hard now, his cock straining against his jeans, and he has to shift, has to grind his hips against the mattress to take the edge off.

"And now," he murmurs, "I get to find out."

Steve presses his lips to yours, swallowing the moan as he fucks you with his fingers. He can feel the way your body starts to tighten, the way you squeeze around him, the way your breath gets unsteady, and he knows you're close.

"God, look at you." He curls his fingers again, watching the way your hips rock into his hand. "So pretty, baby. So perfect."

His free hand comes up, brushing over your nipple, and that's all it takes.

You gasp, clutching onto his shoulder, your head falling back as the orgasm rips through you.

And then, Steve has an idea.

Before you can even process, he's sliding lower, his lips moving, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, then down, until he's settled between your legs. You can feel the heat of his breath, and then, his tongue drags along the inside of your thigh, and the realization of what's about to happen sends a jolt through you.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on you, and fuck, the sensation is overwhelming.

"Oh, god," you gasp, and your hands fly down, tangling into his hair, trying to anchor yourself.

He doesn't go slow this time. He's not gentle or teasing. He just licks a long stripe over your pussy, his fingers parting you, his tongue swiping through the wetness, savoring the taste, and when his mouth finds your clit, his lips closing around it, you have to fight to keep your hips still.

Your entire body feels like it's on fire, the pleasure sharp and white-hot.

Steve is relentless, his tongue moving expertly, swirling around your clit, alternating between hard, firm strokes and light, teasing ones. When he sucks, his tongue flicking, you cry out, a string of curses slipping out as your fingers tighten in his hair.

He groans against you, the sound muffled, his fingers gripping your hips tightly, and then, you feel it.

One hand slides under your thigh, his arm hooking under your leg, pulling it up and over his shoulder. His other arm wraps around the other, holding you down, his hand spreading you, keeping you wide open for him.

Then, Steve goes harder.

He doesn't give you time to breathe, doesn't let you recover. Instead, his tongue moves faster, licking, sucking, his face buried in you, his grip on your thighs iron-tight. The sound is obscene, filthy, wet and messy and fucking perfect, and when his teeth scrape over your clit, your back arches off the bed.

"Steve," you pant, trying not to lose it completely. "I'm—I'm gonna—"

He hums, like he already knows, and the vibrations are enough to send you over the edge.

Your entire body seizes, the pleasure shooting through you like lightning. You don't even know what's happening, if you're crying out or moaning or gasping or a mix of all three, but you can't focus, can't breathe, can't do anything other than let it rip through you, white-hot and fucking amazing.

By the time it finally fades, the aftershocks rolling through you, you're completely breathless. Your legs feel like jelly, your fingers are numb from gripping his hair, and you're positive that every nerve in your body is fried.

When Steve pulls away, sitting up, you look at him.

Your eyes are wide, your chest heaving, and it's only then that you notice the lopsided smile.

"Did I kill you?"

"Shut up," you mutter, your face flushing.

Steve's smirk widens. He crawls up, leaning in, his lips brushing against yours. "You taste amazing."

You're too weak, too fucked out to respond. All you can do is look at him, his mouth slightly parted in a loose smile, his lips shiny. And the fact that you're the reason, the fact that he was just between your legs, eating you out, is enough to make another pulse of warmth spread through your stomach.

Then, Steve looks down at you, his smile turning softer.

"Hey."

"Hi."

"You good?"

You exhale. "Yeah. Just... a little lightheaded."

"Sorry," he says, not sorry at all. "I'll try not to be so good next time."

He grins in a way thats too sweet, too genuine, and then, he presses a kiss to your forehead. He shifts, pulling back, and you're about to ask what he's doing when he reaches for the nightstand. He opens the drawer, digging around, and you're about to ask him why he's suddenly acting so weird when he holds something up.

A condom.

Steve glances at you, and his face does that thing—that half-shy, half-smirking thing—like he's still trying to play it off.

"We don't have to," he says. "If you don't want."

You hesitate.

It's not like you've never thought about it. You've imagined him more times than you'd ever admit, late at night, under the cover of darkness, when it's just you and your own mind and the things you'd like to do. But now the guy is currently in front of you, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes of all time, as if he didn't just give you the best orgasm of your life with his tongue a few minutes ago.

Your heart stutters, and it's not because you're scared or nervous.

"Yeah," you say. "Okay."

Steve blinks, and then, he grins.

"Yeah?"

You roll your eyes. "Yes, asshole."

"Hey." He points a finger at you. "No name-calling while we're having sex."

You snort, and the laugh that follows makes him smile wider.

Then, without thinking, he leans down and kisses you.

The kiss is soft, gentle, almost hesitant, but you can taste yourself on his lips and it's enough to send a shockwave through your system. You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him closer, and the second his bare skin presses against yours, the weight of him settling between your legs, the hardness of his cock pressing against your thigh, your pulse jumps.

Steve reaches for the button on his jeans, fumbling slightly, but once he's kicked them off, he's on you again. His body is warm, the skin soft under your hands, and his mouth finds yours, his kiss a little more desperate now, like he's trying to ground himself, his fingers sliding into your hair, nails scratching lightly against your scalp.

When you shift underneath him, spreading your legs, his breath hitches, the friction enough to make him grind into you. You bite back a whimper, arching into him, and when you reach between you, palming him through his boxers, his cock twitches.

"Off," you say, tugging the waistband. "Now."

Steve huffs a laugh against your mouth.

"Demanding."

But he doesn't hesitate.

He sits back, just enough to pull them off, and the second they're gone, you swallow.

Fuck.

Steve Harrington is a lot of things.

Gorgeous. Annoying. An absolute idiot.

But right now, you're noticing a whole new set of adjectives.

He's hard, the tip flushed and swollen, and he's a little bigger than you were expecting. He's lean and fit in a way that has heat pooling in your stomach, the muscles in his arms flexing slightly as he reaches for the condom, and the sight is enough to make you a little dizzy.

"I can practically hear you thinking," he mutters, leaning in again, his mouth finding your jaw. And then, there's that stupid, cocky smirk. "Like what you see?"

"Absolutely not," you deadpan.

"Uh-huh." Steve's grin widens, but instead of saying anything else, he tears the wrapper open, rolls it on, and then, he's leaning in, bracing his weight over you. "You're cute when you're lying."

You feel the head of his cock brush against your entrance, and when he leans down, kissing you softly, his hand finds yours.

He tangles his fingers with yours, pressing them down into the mattress, his thumb tracing over the back of your hand.

"Still okay?"

His voice is different now. Quieter, softer.

And something about it makes your chest ache.

"Yeah."

"Tell me if it hurts."

You nod, and then, slowly, Steve pushes into you.

He goes slow, inch by inch, his gaze locked with yours. It's intense, overwhelming, and you can't tell if it's the fact that his eyes are so fucking pretty, or the way his fingers lace with yours, or the way his breath stutters a little when he bottoms out, but whatever it is, you feel it everywhere.

Steve holds still, letting you adjust, his chest rising and falling unsteadily, his eyes a little more focused now, and you know he's holding back.

"You can move," you whisper, squeezing his hand.

He exhales, nodding, and then, he does.

The first few thrusts are slow, experimental. He's careful, gentle, and the feeling of him, stretching you open, the way his hips meet yours, the way his hand finds your thigh, pulling it up and wrapping it around his waist, it's all so much.

But when Steve looks at you, his hair falling into his face, his eyes dark, the words slip out before you can stop them.

"Harder."

His rhythm stutters. He blinks.

And then, the corner of his mouth tugs upward.

"Yeah?" He pauses, the smirk spreading. "Are you sure? Cause you might not be able to walk tomorrow—"

"Oh my god, Harrington."

"You know, I think we're past the last name thing at this point."

You groan, burying your face in his neck. The laugh that escapes him is so fucking dumb and beautiful and perfect, and then, without warning, he slams into you.

"Jesus," you gasp, your body arching, fingers clutching onto his shoulders.

"Still not my name," he quips, and before you can respond, he keeps going, his hips snapping into yours, and the noise that slips out when his cock hits a certain spot is obscene.

It's different, being with Steve.

With anyone else, you're always a little guarded. Always a little reserved. Always trying to keep yourself in check, make sure your reactions aren't too exaggerated, make sure you're not too loud, not too much, not too needy. But with him, it's different.

There's none of that.

Right now, the only thing in your head is him.

The scent of his cologne mixed with sweat, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his voice, low and breathy and perfect. His hand slides over your breast, cupping you, his thumb rolling over your nipple, and the pleasure shoots straight through you.

And then, he leans down, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

"God, you're gorgeous." He hikes your leg higher, angling deeper, and the drag of his cock inside you is almost enough to send you over the edge. "So beautiful."

You whimper, the sound high and desperate, and his lips press against your neck.

"Could stay here forever," he murmurs, and then, his teeth graze your skin. "Inside you. Just like this."

"Steve," you gasp, your head falling back.

His name on your lips does something to him.

It's almost instinctive, the way his body moves, the way he fucks into you, his hips grinding against yours. His fingers dig into your thigh, his other hand moving down, sliding along your hip, gripping your ass, and the way you react is perfect.

"Just like that, baby."

Steve keeps talking, his mouth running, whispering the most ridiculous things, like how he loves the way you feel and the way your nails drag over his shoulders and the way your breasts bounce when he fucks into you. And every single one of his stupid, filthy compliments has your body tensing, the heat building in your stomach.

Your legs are around his waist, the heels of your feet pressing into the small of his back, and when he leans forward, shifting the angle, his mouth finding your breast, his tongue swiping over your nipple, the sound that escapes is embarrassingly loud.

"Steve," you whine, the sound needy and desperate.

"I know," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Fuck, I know."

Steve knows what he's doing. And the fact that he's got you wrapped around his finger, completely under his spell, makes him feel like he's on top of the fucking world.

His hips start to lose their rhythm, his movements getting a little sloppier, and when you start to tighten around him, the whimper he lets out is downright sinful. He leans back, his eyes meeting yours, and when his fingers find your clit, his touch firm, the feeling is enough to send you over the edge.

You don't even try to stop the moan, the sound slipping out, and then, the words.

"Don't stop." Your nails drag down his back, fingers curling, and Steve nearly loses it right there. "Steve, please. Don't stop."

"I won't." His voice is rough, the sound making you squeeze around him. "I won't."

And then, his mouth finds yours, and the second your lips part, the second his tongue slides against yours, the sensation is too much.

"Steve," you pant. "Fuck. Steve."

The sound of his name, over and over, coming out like a plea, is too much.

It's the combination of everything—the way your body arches, the way you clutch onto him, the way you squeeze around him, the way his name slips out.

"Shit," Steve groans. "I'm gonna—"

"Me, too," you gasp, and when you squeeze his hand, the orgasm ripping through you.

He chases after you, the pleasure slamming through him, his hips stuttering as he comes, his forehead falling against yours. Your names spill out, mixed together, and then, the room is filled with nothing but the sound of ragged breathing, the scent of sweat and sex and his cologne mingling together, the faint buzz from the TV downstairs drifting through the room.

By the time Steve catches his breath, his head is spinning.

His limbs feel like jelly, and his arms shake slightly, his body half-collapsed on top of yours, the feeling of your bare skin against his making his pulse race. He doesn't pull out, doesn't move, just lets his forehead rest against yours, the sound of your breath the only thing keeping him tethered.

After a few moments, his brain finally catches up.

He leans back, watching you.

Your face is flushed, lips slightly parted, the light sheen of sweat on your skin making you glow. And the expression on your face—the blissed-out, relaxed, fucked-out expression—makes his stomach flip.

"Shit," Steve whispers.

And then, before he can stop himself, before he can think, he says, "I love you."

The words are quiet, a little shaky, and the second they slip out, his breath catches.

Your eyes go wide.

Fuck.

He didn't mean to say it. Not now. Not like this.

The thought comes, unbidden, and then, he's hit with the realization.

Oh.

That's exactly what he meant.

Because it's true.

It's always been true.

Steve has said those words before, a handful of times, and each time, it never meant the same thing. The first time was in eighth grade, during a game of truth or dare. It was a joke, an inside-out version of the words that had everyone laughing. The second time was to a girl he dated briefly during sophomore year. He wasn't in love with her, not really, but the way she reacted, the way her entire face lit up, made him wish he was. And the third was to Nancy, when he was convinced it was true. That it would be true. Forever.

But the second it leaves his mouth, the second he says it now, the weight of the words settles over him.

It's heavy. Solid. Like the kind of thing that can't be taken back, the kind of thing that changes everything.

And when he looks at you, when he sees the way you stare back, the look in your eyes making his chest ache, the words hit him again.

He loves you.

"Fuck," Steve says, exhaling sharply. "Sorry, I didn't mean—I shouldn't have said—"

"You love me?"

Your voice is soft. Small. A little incredulous.

"I..." He pauses, looking at you.

You don't say anything, and Steve doesn't know if he's ever felt this fucking terrified in his entire life.

And then, slowly, your lips curve into a smile.

"You love me," you repeat, the smile spreading.

"Yeah."

"Like, love-love?"

"Oh, so ‘love love’ is okay to say, but ‘like like’ is childish?"

You ignore his call back. "Like, 'I want to hold your hand in public and fall asleep on the couch together and wake up with my face buried in your hair and spend the next ten years wondering what took us so long' love?"

The corner of his mouth tugs upward.

"All of the above."

Your heart jumps, and without thinking, you lean in, kissing him softly. When you lean back, Steve's eyes are a little wider, and the hope in his expression is almost painful.

"Do you...?"

You grin, and the second the words slip out, you know they're true.

"Yeah. Iove you too, Harrington."

"Hey," he starts, tilting his head. "I told you, we're past the last name thing."

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes. Your face softens as you meet his gaze, and you move your hand to fix some of the hair stuck to his forehead. "I love you, Steve."

He's never loved his name more.

"So," you start, "where does that leave us now?"

"Well, according to my calculations, you are currently in my bed, naked, and I am stil insi-" he pauses, realization hitting him. "Oh my god. I told you I loved you for the first time while I was still inside of you. What kind of maniac does that?"

"Is this what love is like for you?"

"Oh shut up," Steve says, smiling, and finally, he pulls out.

He rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling, and then, without looking, he reaches for your hand.

"How about," he says, squeezing lightly, "we sleep, and then, tomorrow, we can talk about all the ways we're going to tell our friends and make them suffer?"

You snort, looking over at him. He's taking the condom off, tying it off, and then, he tosses it into the trashcan beside the bed. He turns back, shifting closer, and the fact that you're both naked, in bed, post-coitus, isn't lost on you.

"And the day after that," he adds, pulling you closer, "we can spend the entire day here, naked, in this bed, and we'll figure out a new plan."

"A new plan?"

"Yeah."

He's so close, his nose brushing against yours, and when his eyes flick between yours, there's a look there. A promise.

"We can make a new plan every day," Steve says, his voice a little lower, "for as long as you want."

And then, he kisses you, and it feels a little like the world shifts.

It's a small shift, just enough for everything to click into place.

Because now, everything is different.

Everything is new.

It's a promise.

And when Steve pulls away, when his eyes meet yours, when he smiles, a little crooked, a little sleepy, a little in love, you can't help but smile back.

[judyjudybaboodee]

who wants a robin buckley rockstar x really bored reader fic

the vision:

robin is a world famous lead singer of a band (steve is a guitarist / backup singer, eddie is a bass guitarist, jonathan is a drummer, and nancy is their band manager) and pops (in disguise obviously) by a random coffee shop outside their hotel to get them all coffee before the show in a couple hours. there she sees the barista (thats you) and immediately gets ready to be begged for an autograph when she orders, just for her to... not. its not that you don't know who she is (you're actually a fan), you just doesn't really care enough to treat her like a god. robin is immediately enamoured and determined to win you over

who wants it

[thornsnvultures]

steve and robin helping with the baby eddie didn't mean to leave you with.

you feel guilty that they're taking time between community college classes (robin) and nights after working all day (steve), but they won't hear it. they didn't know eddie long but he was still their friend. he saved them, saved all of them. that and steve can never say no to that baby's squishy little face.

"it's good practice," he says, shaking a bottle of formula and smiling. you imagine six or seven little steve's running around and hand him the baby.

robin doesn't know what the hell she's doing either but the way her leg bounces when she's doing her assigned reading is surprisingly good at calming a gassy baby. she doesn't mind being heralded as The Burp Queen as long as you keep paying her in home cooked meals.

your parents kicked you out when they found out. called the baby "devil spawn born in sin". they would've loved eddie's dramatic flair if their own wasn't so steeped in hatred.

wayne took you in when he found out you had no place to go. the government had him set up in a cozy little apartment in Indianapolis. nothing huge or fancy, but you had your own space and wayne was living a retired life he'd never thought he'd get to have. he's always itching to do something to feel useful. it's perfect if not for the lingering sadness. the empty feeling like your home's not really a home.

sometimes when she cries at night you lay there and cry with her. she knows something's missing too. you don't know how you'll tell her when the time comes. for now you soothe her and kiss her curly little head and hope it soothes your ache too.

[pollenallergie]

i like the idea that eddie and steve bicker like siblings, and you and robin constantly have to break it up and separate them like elementary school children.

*robin has to get involved because she’s steve’s designated handler, and you have to get involved because you’re eddie’s partner which, by default, makes you his designated handler.